A NewYear
by Mrs. Shezza Watson-Holmes
Summary: John is throwing a New Years Eve party, much to Sherlock's dismay. When a kissing game at midnight goes awry, can Sherlock and John overcome the complications it causes? John/Sherlock? Possibly. Awkward social situations? Definitely!
1. Chapter 1

**Hello everyone! I am quite new at writing fanfiction, so any advice would be appreciated! Please point out any spelling/grammar errors, I do not have a beta reader and I would love to fix any mistakes you may notice. The game is on!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own ANY of the characters. They belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and are beautify interpreted by the writers and actors at BBC.**

Chapter 1

The door slammed shut as John entered the cold hallway to their flat after a long shift at work. It had been a dreadfully chaotic time at the clinic, filled with people who had already begun celebrating the New Year. John had absent-mindedly tended to them and sent them on their way, all the while running over his to-do list in his head. He and Sherlock were throwing a New Years Eve party tonight, and he had quite a lot of things to do before hand.

It was really John's party, seeing as Sherlock would never have thrown one himself, but John wasn't going to hold that against him. He knew Sherlock didn't really hate parties as much as he claimed, and John was determined to show him a good time tonight. John had only invited a few of their closest friends, and had even decided not to invite his current girlfriend; just so that Sherlock would not feel uncomfortable of course.

John trudged up the stairs, the heavy shopping bags digging into his hands. John opened the door to the flat and was not at all surprised to find his consulting detective laying on the couch with the room in a state of disarray around him. To an untrained eye it would appear that a filing cabinet had exploded, but John was able to see that Sherlock had been sorting his sheet music.

"I'm back. I could have used some help you know." John called over his shoulder as he went to put away the groceries. Sherlock continued laying there with his eyes closed, the papers haphazardly sitting on his chest fluttering softly with every breath. It almost looked as though he was comatose, but that is extremely unlikely being that Sherlock didn't waste time with such human habits as self-preservation.

John entered the kitchen, sighing as he saw the table and counters covered in a vast array of Petri dishes, beakers, and mysterious chemicals. He looked around a moment for a nonhazardous surface to place the groceries on, and ended up settling with putting them down on the floor.

"_This is going to be a long evening if Sherlock is in one of his moods again_." John thought to himself as he put away the groceries. He quickly finished the mundane task and with a steadying breath, entered the living room to wake the sleeping dragon.

"Given the state of the flat I'm assuming you didn't have a case today" John said, coming to stand beside Sherlock who was still lying on the couch.

Sherlock appeared to be in his mind palace, his mahogany curls creating a halo around his head. He didn't respond, and John decided that it was better to get straight to the point. With an irritated eye roll, John said a bit louder "Well the party is tonight so go take a shower. We only have two hours left to get ready Sherlock."

That appeared to do the trick, and Sherlock sat up immediately and turned to look at John. "I don't want to attend any party. It is completely ridiculous to have people in our flat, drinking and pretending to want to be here. And besides, I have important work to do." Sherlock huffed.

John sighed, and ran his hands over his face. "Sherlock don't make this difficult." John looked at Sherlock with his deep blue eyes. "Please for me, just go take a shower and get dressed."

Sherlock stared at him a moment longer, but ultimately left for a shower as John requested. John bustled about the room cleaning up their messy flat. He had politely asked Sherlock to try and keep it neat while he was at work, but instead the consulting detective appears to have taken offense at the suggestion and done the exact opposite. Of all the days to finally sort through the sheet music, case notes, and random experiment results he had been squirreling away, of course Sherlock chose the one day they were having company over.

John finished up removing the papers and empty tea cups from the living room and moved on to the potentially hazardous kitchen. John softly hummed one of the violin pieces Sherlock was so fond of as he moved Sherlock's various chemicals and experiments to an empty cupboard to be dealt with later.

"_Well if they haven't killed us yet I'm sure an evening with them in the cupboard can't do us that much harm, although with Sherlock you can never tell_." John thought as he locked the cupboard door for good measure. "_Wouldn't want anyone accidently getting into it, might cause them to grow an extra arm or something"_.

John could hear the shower cut off and he smiled to himself knowing that he had won their little battle of wills, and that Sherlock had actually showered instead of just sitting there sulking. He wiped off the counters and began to prepare the finger food that they were going to serve at tonight's get together. "_Sure is taking Sherlock a long time to get dressed_." John said to himself, not that he was counting. _"I could use his help getting the food ready if he would hurry up._"

John was bent over the vegetable bin in the fridge trying to find the cucumber he had bought when he heard the creak of footsteps behind him. John was still rummaging around in the fridge "Took you long enough, come help me with..."

John turned around to see Sherlock standing in the doorway. His hair, softly curled from the humidity of the shower, was dripping gently onto his exposed shoulders. Sherlock's lean frame was glistening wet and clad only in a fluffy white towel slung low on his hips.

John felt his face flush slightly at the sight of his scantily clad flat mate and he licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. "Sherlock, why aren't you dressed yet?" John asked, clearing his throat and looking anywhere but at the consulting detective who was eyeing him appraisingly.

"My purple shirt isn't in the closet." Sherlock drawled with his velvety voice, completely calm. He leaned against the door frame and looked John up and down, obviously trying to deduce where his shirt was.

_"_I can see by the washing powder on your shirt sleeve that you did the laundry already today, so I'm assuming you know where it is. Likely it is still in the laundry room downstairs given that you've only been down there once today." Sherlock deduced, now wandering about the room looking at what John was doing as if his being practically nude was irrelevant.

John nodded, his cheeks turning a faint shade of pink as Sherlock drew closer. "Yes, it should be in the dryer. Hurry up and get dressed."

"Well I obviously can't go down like this." Sherlock said, gesturing to his bare chest. "Mrs. Hudson's shriek nearly woke the entire neighborhood last time I went down there without clothes."

"I guess I'll get it then." John sighed at Sherlock, who was now standing directly in front of him.

Sherlock stepped back to let him by, and as John passed he could smell the soft minty aroma from Sherlock's shampoo. It was a scent John enjoyed whenever Sherlock was near, and it had become almost a game to see how often he could smell it without getting caught. Not that John would ever admit that to anyone, he knew it was an odd thing for a flat mate to do but he just couldn't seem to stop himself.

John quickly retrieved the shirt and tossed it to the consulting detective when he returned to the flat. Sherlock left with a nod to go get dressed and John returned to the kitchen to finish the food. John resumed his quiet humming and soon was sashaying about the room as he collected wine glasses and champagne flutes. The stress of the day seemed to melt away as he prepared for the party and set out the drinks.

"I didn't know you liked to dance." A voice just behind John rumbled, nearly causing him to drop all the glasses he was carrying. Sherlock had been leaning against the doorframe again, watching John. This time he was dressed in his inexplicably tight purple shirt and his perfectly tailored trousers that hugged every curve, from his toned calves all the way up to his ridiculously plush arse. Not that John cared what Sherlock wore, that would be a weird thing for someone who is just a friend to care about.

"Jesus Christ Sherlock, don't scare me like_ that_" John exclaimed, setting down the glasses before and harm could befall them. "And I wasn't dancing."

"Really, I thought that's what you called it when you attempted to move at the same tempo as the music. Granted it was a rather poor attempt." Sherlock said sarcastically, still standing in the doorway.

John rolled his eyes. "Please just fill those glasses with ice. We only have thirty minutes left so I'm going to get dressed_._" John said as he left the kitchen to take a shower. "Don't set anything on fire while I'm gone."

Being that John isn't a particularly high maintenance person, it didn't take him long to shower and return to finish the party preparations. Freshly washed and wearing a new navy and white striped jumper, John returned to the empty kitchen. He was surprised to see Sherlock had actually filled the glasses filled with ice, and John hoped he would return soon. He could use help prepping the veggie plate after all.

As if on cue, the consulting detective sauntered into the kitchen again. He leaned against the counter beside John, watching him slice red peppers to add to the tray. After a moment of quiet work, John stepped to the side and handed Sherlock the knife. "Here, make yourself useful" John said as he began to make the dip. He looked over a moment later to find Sherlock hacking away at the poor pepper.

_"_What are you doing? You're supposed to slice it!" John groaned when he saw the mess Sherlock had made. His cutting board was covered in randomly sized chunks of pepper that were obviously not dipping quality.

"Well you didn't provide clear instructions." Sherlock snapped with an irritated huff. "I was under the impression that they were all just going to be eaten."

"Look, you're right. I should have been more explicate." John said softly, taking a step closer before Sherlock could contradict him. "It's really just the way you're holding the knife_._" John slid his strong hand over Sherlock's cool violinist's fingers that were holding the knife. John could feel the heat of Sherlock' chest through his jumper, and the pleasant warmth of his breath on his neck.

Sherlock cleared his throat, and John could feel it rumble in his chest. "I think I've got it now." The detective said with a strained look.

"Yes of course_."_ John said, stepping back quickly. He went back to making the dip, kicking himself for the awkward moment. He wasn't sure why he had felt the need to teach Sherlock himself, he could have just told him how to grip the knife. Instead he had made a perfectly normal task into one of face melting embarrassment. These little awkward moments seemed to be happening a lot more often than necessary these days.

"So, why isn't your girlfriend coming?" Sherlock inquired, still concentrating on cutting the vegetable.

"I didn't say she wasn't coming." John said, knowing that want to or not Sherlock was going to tell him his deductions.

"You would have used more gel if she were coming. She commented on it last week and since then you have made an obvious effort to use more when you will see her. I don't know why you bother; she is more concerned with her own appearance than with your hair." Sherlock rambled. _"_And just so you know, she is wrong. Your hair always looks best with less gel."

"Really?" John said, running a hand through his hair. He turned to look at Sherlock. "I didn't invite her because I want it to be just us." Sherlock raised an eyebrow and John hurried to explain himself. "I mean, just our friends. She wouldn't know anyone and I don't really want to babysit her all night."

Sherlock hesitated. "_I thought that if you cared for someone than you wanted to spend time with them._" He said, glancing over at John.

John thought for a moment before answering. "Well you do usually. I just thought it would be nice if it were just us."

Sherlock finished chopping the pepper at the same time John completed the dip. John, deep in thought about what Sherlock had said, spun around haphazardly to put the dip on the table. His foot caught on the counter, and seeing the imminent peril Sherlock jumped to intervene. His arm shot out, catching John firmly around his waist and preventing the near catastrophe. John caught his balance and it took him a moment to realize Sherlock's hand was still resting lightly on his waist.

John jumped back before realizing that it was a bit of an overreaction to such a simple touch. "Thanks. That could have been a disaster."

Sherlock nodded in agreement. John took the peppers out of his hand and readjusted the vegetable tray. Just then they heard a knock on the door.

Sherlock went back to his spot against the door frame and with a small smirk, said "_Well, let the party begin_."

**Thank you for reading! I am not sure how long this will end up being. Right now it looks like it will be three chapters. I have never published smut, and not sure if it will make it into this fic. If it does I will have it clearly marked before hand and in its own chapter so you could skip it if you want. Please leave any suggestions and I will reply as soon as possible!**


	2. Chapter 2

The icy wind swirled into the hallway as Detective Inspector Lestrade walked in holding a bottle of wine. "My God it's cold out there." He said as John ushered him into the warmth. "It is just starting to snow, and it doesn't look like it will be letting up any time soon."

"Well we're glad you made it Greg, It would be a very boring New Year's party if it was just Sherlock and I." John assured him as he led Lestrade up the stairs to the flat.

He looked up at John, and with a cheeky grin he said airily "Oh, I'm sure you two would have found some way to entertain your selves."

John rolled his eyes at what Greg was implying. "Honestly, does everyone think we're a couple? We really aren't."

Greg chuckled. "Oh yes you are, you just haven't told each other yet. If it makes you feel any better, the pool at the Yard is on you being man enough to make the first move."

"Well surprisingly enough, it doesn't. I Am Not Gay." John huffed as they reached the top of the stairs. He paused for a moment as Lestrade caught up. "Hypothetically speaking, you really don't think Sherlock would be the first to say something? He is always makes it very clear to anyone who flirts with him that he isn't interested. Usually he's quite rude about it."

Lestrade shook his head and glanced around to make sure Sherlock couldn't hear them. "Sorry mate, that's just because he is not interested in them. I think that if he really cared for someone, he would stay quiet to avoid rejection. I can't imagine him taking that very well."

John look surprised at Lestrade's hypothesis. "I hadn't thought of it like that. I was just under the impression that he didn't do human things like relationships. It would get in the way of his work." Lestrade shrugged, and together they entered the flat.

Sherlock was lounging sideways in his chair, his hands steepled under his chin. Sherlock did not bother looking at who was there as the men entered the flat. "Hello George, nice of you to bring wine. Pepperwood Grove Pinot Noir I'm assuming?" Sherlock drawled without even a glance at Lestrade.

With an odd mixture of surprise and exasperation, Lestrade sighed. "Schug Sonoma Coast Pinot Noir actually. How can you possibly know I brought Pinot Noir, and not know that my name is Greg?"

Sherlock sat up, shocked at being incorrect. He eyed Lestrade carefully, taking in every detail with his intense stare. As he deduced Greg you could see his face go from curious to shocked, finally settling on disgust in a matter of seconds. Looking as though he had swallowed a lemon, Sherlock replied. "Well, you will be glad to know that my brother will be coming to the party. I really do not want to know _how_ you knew that it is one of his favorite American wines."

John, who had been standing there silently watching the exchange, looked thoroughly amused as Greg turned almost as red as the wine as he stumbled over his words, franticly trying to explain himself.

"I did not get the wine specifically for your brother!" Lestrade sputtered "My cousin from America sent it to me and that's why I brought it. I honestly didn't even know if Mike was coming!"

"Mike! He lets you call him Mike!?" Sherlock exclaimed, looking aghast.

Lestrade turned, if it was even possible, more red. "People don't normally call him that? He comes by the yard on occasion and that's what he asked me to call him."

Sherlock sat there wide eyed, his mouth moving as though he were trying to think of something to say, but was unable to properly express his horror.

John chuckled at the pair of them. He addressed the socially impaired men with eyebrows raised, trying to keep his grin under control. "Brilliant impression of a fish Sherlock. Greg, it's alright. Whatever you and Mycroft do behind closed doors is your business."Sherlock appeared to turn faintly green at the thought of what Lestrade and his brother got up to "behind closed doors".

Lestrade ran his hands over his face in embarrassment and quietly said "There is absolutely nothing "going on behind closed doors" with Mike, um, Mycroft."

"Yoo hoo, I made ginger biscuits. Are the other guest here yet?" Thanks to her impeccable timing, Mrs. Hudson entered the flat with a tin of fresh biscuits. John jumped up, grateful for an excuse to change the topic.

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson, ginger biscuits are Sherlock's favorite. I'll put them and the wine Greg brought in the kitchen." John said as he ushered Mrs. Hudson to sit on the couch. Mrs. Hudson and DI Lestrade made small talk in the living room, discussing the winter storm that was supposed to get. Grabbing Sherlock by the arm, John pulled him into the empty kitchen.

John set the treats down and pulled Sherlock far out of their guest's earshot. Still holding firmly onto the taller man's arm, John spun him around so that Sherlock was in the far corner of the kitchen. They could still catch the quiet conversation going on in the living room, so John leaned in so that they wouldn't hear. He could smell the shampoo again, and it momentarily caused him to forget why he had Sherlock cornered in the first place. John looked up only to find Sherlock's piercing eyes gazing directly into his own, causing his breath to catch. Mentally giving himself a shake, John remembered why he had brought the younger man into the kitchen.

John cleared his throat "Please behave Sherlock. What Mycroft and Greg do is their business, whether they're together or not isn't any of our concern."

Sherlock looked for a moment as though he was going to argue, but changed his mind under the stern gaze of Dr. Watson.

"Fine" He huffed. "If it makes you happy than won't mention it again."

"Thank you" John said with a nod. After a moment, he realized that he was still holding on to Sherlock's arm and was mere inches from the consulting detective's face. John could practically taste Sherlock's warm and minty breath as it swirled around his nose, tickling his upper lip. Blushing softly, John quickly took a step back and let go of Sherlock's arm. Sherlock looked inquisitively down at the shorter man, but didn't say anything. Instead he silently followed John back to the party.

They entered the living room to find Molly chatting with Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson. "Molly! We're so glad you came. I hope the weather wasn't too bad." said John.

"It's not too bad yet, but I'm afraid it's getting worse. Sherlock, I have three new brains down at the morgue if you want them." She said, turning her attention to Sherlock who had returned to his leather chair.

He turned to her with a slightly irritated look. "Of course I want them; I have been meaning to see how quickly a brain loses moisture in a microwave."

John turned to look at Sherlock with a stern glare. "I hope you aren't planning on conducting this experiment in _our_ microwave. You already have the tray of fingers in the fridge that you haven't cleaned up yet." The older said, crossing his arms.

Sherlock looked over at him with a mischievous grin. "Make me."

John suddenly found the room quite warm, but he refused to back down. Instead, he looked deep into Sherlock's eyes. "Oh trust me, I will"

To John's surprise, he thought he saw a light dusting of pink tint the taller man's sharp cheek bones. Must be a trick of the light.

"I'll go get a drink." Molly interrupted, blushing furiously. Avoiding eye contact with either of the men, she made her hasty retreat to the kitchen. This left John and Sherlock alone with Lestrade again, seeing as Mrs. Hudson had stepped outside to see who was at the door. Greg had been watching the exchange, and now was giving John the "that was not a heterosexual response" look. It took John a moment as he rewound the conversation to realize how it must have sounded to Molly and Greg. He sighed and looked over at Sherlock, expecting him to correct Lestrade with a clever remark. Instead the consulting detective was looking anywhere but at him, and if John didn't know better, he would have said Sherlock looked embarrassed again. "_That's ridiculous_" John thought to himself. "_Sherlock doesn't get embarrassed, particularly not by accidental innuendo. Am I getting on his nerves?_" Luckily for them, the uncomfortable silence was once again broken by the arrival of guests.

"Johnny!" Harry cried as she entered the room with her new girlfriend and Mrs. Hudson in tow. "It's been months since I've seen you!" She said, pulling John into a rib breaking hug.

Still trapped, John hugged her back and said "It's good to see you too, I'm glad you could make it." Sherlock, who had meet John's sister once before, stood up and tried to sneak into the kitchen.

"Oi! Sherly" Harry called as she leaped across the living room to hug him. Trapped, Sherlock had no choice but to endure the spine breaking embrace. Lestrade was trying hard to stifle his giggles as he quickly snapped a photo of the clearly one sided hug. "Glad to see you and Johnny are still together, I've been looking forward to seeing you again!" Harry said warmly as she finally released Sherlock.

"Likewise." Sherlock said with a blatantly fake smile. "I see you and your girlfriend did not fair as well."

Her buoyant attitude didn't falter in the slightest at Sherlock's barb. She grabbed the hand of the woman behind her, pulling her into the conversation. "No we didn't last, but it's for the best. If I was still with her, I would have never met Lyn." Lyn looked to be about thirty six, with long dark hair and large eyes. She was eying Sherlock with apprehension, and John guessed that Harry had already warned her about Sherlock and his people skills.

"Well, I'm sure the extra money she makes on the side in addition to her candle business is nice. I've heard the tips are nice working at Glíttër, although being a stri- _oomph_!"

John had elbowed Sherlock hard in the side. Leaning in, John hissed into Sherlock's ear. "Cut, It, Out! You _promised_ me you would behave!"

"It's alright." Lyn said with a laugh. "He isn't telling me anything I didn't already know. Harry already told me about the Asperger's."

John laughed and Sherlock looked offended.

"I do not have Asperger's. I am a high functioning sociopath, do your research." The taller man said with a cold look.

"I will, so be prepared for questions next time we visit." Lyn retorted.

Before Sherlock could reply, there was a knock at the door. He sighed and rolled his eyes, turning to John. "Nope. It's your turn." The doctor said with a smirk. The visitor knocked again, and Sherlock trudged over to the door.

With an exaggerated flourish, he yanked open the door. "Relax everyone; the life of the party has arrived."

Removing his coat, Mycroft walked into the room. "Nice to see you too, brother dear." The older Holmes said without even bothering to look at his younger brother. He hung up his umbrella, and walked over to sit beside Greg on the couch. Sherlock's eyes narrowed, scrutinizing every detail. Sensing danger John sighed and went to stand beside Sherlock.

"Be nice." John cautioned.

"I am being nice!" Sherlock said.

"Well than be nicer." John countered.

They had borrowed a love seat from Mrs. Hudson for the party and it was the only empty spot in the living room. Sherlock sat down on the fluffy upholstery nearest the couch, leaving just enough room for John to squeeze in beside the consulting detective.

Greg and Mycroft were already deep in conversation about the Yard, and Sherlock listened intently for any useful information. Sherlock's bony elbow was jabbing in to John's side and the tried to scoot over, to no avail. Irritated by Johns wiggling he moved his arm, placing it instead behind the shorter man's head. John was acutely aware of Sherlock's long fingers resting lightly on his right shoulder, and he found himself once again trying not to blush.

"Enjoying the party? It's a shame Samantha couldn't join us." Mycroft inquired, finally turning to include them in the conversation.

"Who?" John asked, still distracted. "OH! Samantha! I didn't invite her this time. She doesn't know any of you, it would be weird."

Greg laughed. "Well how is your girlfriend supposed to know any of us if you never bring her around?" John just shrugged in response.

"Rather odd that you do not want someone that you are in a relationship with to meet your closest friends, isn't it Sherlock." Mycroft said, staring pointedly Sherlock.

John sighed. "Fine, I'll bite. What does it mean?"

Sherlock turned to John, breaking the staring contest with his brother. "It means that she won't me around long. If you are not planning on introducing her, than you must not be very interested."

"Just because I haven't introduced her to our friends doesn't mean that I'm not interested." The shorter man said defensively.

"Mmm, yes it does." Sherlock said "I'm glad she won't be intruding for much longer. She was taking up to much of your time."

"Jealous Sherlock?" said Mycroft with a mischievous smile.

Sherlock went to snap at his older brother. John, sensing that this was about to escalate into an all out brawl, quickly intervened. "Haha, very funny Mycroft." With a wink to Sherlock, he added "So Greg, how was the date with that brunet on Wednesday?" Mycroft looked offended, and Greg blushed as he became flustered again.

"I told you, it wasn't a date! She is a new secretary at the Yard and we just went for lunch. I was only being nice!" Sherlock beamed at John, proud of his quick wit.

Sherlock leaned in closer, and John could feel his breath tickle his ear as the. "I have a feeling that whomever the brunet is, their employment is about to end." Sherlock said softly with his low, rumbling voice.

John laughed quietly, looking up into Sherlock's mesmerizing eyes. "I was just joking. The new secretary must be twice Greg's age. Would Mycroft really fire her?" John finished with concern.

Sherlock thought for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "Yes, if she were a threat. One of the few character traits I share with my brother is that we are both very protective, and will do anything to eliminate someone or something that poses a threat." John was taken aback by this statement. "_Who has Sherlock been protective over?_" He wondered.

Before John could think of the right way to ask Sherlock this question, Molly exited the kitchen with Harry. "Hello Mycroft!" She said. "Harry just had a great idea for a game we should play. Are you in?"

"It depends, what sort of game?" Mycroft inquired.

"It's a surprise. You've got to agree beforehand." Molly said with a grin. They all agreed, although Sherlock required some prodding.

"Alright, now tell us what it is." said John,.

Harry giggled, and with a nudge said "Oh don't worry Johnny, I'm sure you'll love it. It's a kissing game!"


	3. Chapter 3

"Really? Isn't that a bit childish?" Said Mycroft with amusement. "What ever made you come up with this idea?"

Molly grinned "Well, Harry and I were just talking about how other than her and Lyn, everyone came alone.

"Technically, John and I didn't come at all. It's our house." Sherlock interjected.

John, who was still sitting with him on the love seat, took advantage of the fact that the taller man's arm was still on the back of the seat and elbowed him in the side. "Shut up Sherlock."

"Anyway" Molly continued "Harry pointed out that it is traditional to kiss at midnight for good luck"

"Yes, and it would liven the party up" Harry added. "We'll each draw a number out of this empty jam jar. As the countdown begins, we will each find the person who has the same number and that's who we kiss!" She exclaimed with excitement.

There was a long moment of stunned silence. "Well I think it's charming!" Mrs. Hudson chimed in. "What a fun party game, how clever of you girls to think of it. Come on, everyone draw a number!"

At her insistence, the rest of them grudging passed around the jam jar. "No peeking." John spoke up. "If you look, I'm sure Sherlock and Mycroft will know what you picked, assuming that they haven't already guessed from the size of the paper or the way it's cut or something."

Mycroft chucked, and Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I cannot see through paper John, and I never guess."

John laughed and gave Sherlock a playful shove, a difficult feat considering how little space was between them. "Well, there's only an hour until countdown. I'll grab us some more drinks." said the Doctor as he stood up. He was surprised at how much he missed the warm, solid pressure of Sherlock's arm around him.

"I'll help you dearie." Mrs. Hudson added as she followed him to the kitchen. As they left the conversation in the living room continued, already on another topic.

John bustled about the kitchen, grabbing the bottle of wine Lestrade brought and a fresh cheese tray. "I've got it Mrs. Hudson." He said as she looked around for something to take to the living room. She didn't leave though; instead she grabbed a bottle of sherry and some napkins.

"Thank you for throwing this party John. I think it's doing a good job of distracting him. Heaven knows we didn't need another incident like last year!" John nodded in response. He remembered the destruction that occurred last New Year's Eve.

For some reason, Sherlock had a hard time with New Years. Last year was their first together, and he had to endure a week of torturous experiments. Sherlock had worked as though he were on a case, without food or sleep. The only difference was that instead of the excitement of a puzzle fueling him, John could see he was working with a panicked anger.

He would carelessly measure chemicals, not caring if they burned him. He threw beakers and smoked cigarette after cigarette as the week drew to a close. John still wasn't sure which was worse, New Years Eve or the week afterwards. New Years Eve had brought a crescendo of chaos. John vividly remembered how Sherlock managed to set the table on fire just before midnight.

"SHERLOCK HOLMES! I do not know what the _hell_ has gotten into you but this has got to stop!" John had yelled as he doused the flames using one of the many fire extinguishers they had stashed around the flat.

"Aghhhhhh!" Sherlock huffed as he had angrily watched the shorter man douse the flames. "You just ruined my work!"

"_You_ just set the bloody kitchen on fire!" John retorted, spinning around from working on the table to face Sherlock, who was now glaring at him. "I had a date tonight Sherlock and _you_ ruined it with _your_ week long tantrum! We were going to a party tonight, but I had to call and cancel because _you_ need adult supervision! Honestly, it's like babysitting a three year old all the time with you! I would much rather be out there with her than stuck in this flat with _you_!" John yelled, growing louder and more upset with every sentence.

A look of deep hurt flickered across Sherlock's face before it settled on an appearance of closely guarded rage, and John instantly realized that he had crossed a line. Before he could apologize, Sherlock had stepped forward. His voice was low, as though it was taking all his effort to keep from yelling back and betraying emotion.

"If that is what you want, then _go_. I did not ask for you to stay, I was doing perfectly fine before I met you and I will be perfectly fine when you leave." The taller man had said while maintaining an icy glare that seemed to pierce John's soul.

John had glared back, hurt by Sherlock's hash words and angrier than he had been before. He took a deep breath before speaking, and he responded with army trained calm. "Obviously you do need me, even if it's only to keep you from burning now the entire street."

"I DON'T NEED YOU OR ANYONE ELSE" Sherlock screamed, losing all pretense of control as he raged at John. "I NEVER NEEDED YOU! I WAS PERFECTLY FINE BEFORE YOU SHOWED UP LIKE A LOST PUPPY THAT FOLLOWED ME HOME! GO LIVE WITH YOUR GIRLFRIEND FOR ALL I CARE!"

"FINE! IF THAT'S WHAT YOU WANT, I'LL GO! I'M TIRED OF ALWAY CLEANING UP THE TROUBLE YOU CAUSE!" John had screamed back.

He was angrier than he had been at someone in years, but he was also scared. He had never seen Sherlock like this, so completely filled with emotion and pain. He didn't know if Sherlock realized that his threat to leave was an empty one, and John also didn't know if Sherlock really wanted him gone.

The last thing he wanted was to have to leave Baker Street, to leave Sherlock. John's heart still ached as he remembered how Sherlock has screamed at him to get out before he darted to his room and slammed the door.

If possible, the days after were worse. John had stayed up the rest of the night cleaning up the mess, and by morning he had the flat looking like usual. He had used this time to think over their argument, but no matter how he looked at it, he couldn't figure out what had set Sherlock off. Sure, saying that he would rather be with his girlfriend than Sherlock wasn't a very smart move, but it wasn't bad enough to make Sherlock that angry. Right? As the sun rose, John decided to step out for some air.

He had been gone for about an hour before he returned to the flat. Sherlock was lying on the couch when he returned, deep in his mind palace. John had been startled to see how red his eyes were, and for some reason the thought of Sherlock crying made John feel horrible.

"_I'm such a jerk_!" John thought as he had sat down in his chair. "_Sherlock was obviously having issues this week and all I did was blame him for making me miss my date. Did I even ask him what was wrong before I yelled at him?_"

John sat there a moment longer before remembered that he had been kicked out. "_How could I __have forgot__ that_?" John wondered as he made his way upstairs. He felt as though his feet were made of lead as he climbed the stairs. "_I guess it's over. I should have known I wouldn't be able to play detective forever_." He packed a bag in a haze, numb to everything but the sadness that was growing with every moment. He had trudged back down the stairs and briefly glanced back into the living room, still hoping that Sherlock would stop him. The detective was still laying on the couch, his deep mahogany curls tangled and unruly as he stared blankly forward. John sighed, the sorrow of leaving settling like a stone in his stomach.

To be honest, John knew he and his girlfriend at the time wouldn't last. They were just too different, and it was unfair to pretend otherwise. John squeezed himself into a phone booth, where he called up an old army friend. After a quick conversation, John began the long trudge down the street, toward his new flat mate and away from his best friend.

John had only been gone for a few days when a familiar black car had pulled up beside him as he left work. "Nice to see you again Anthea" John said as he slipped into the back seat. She only nodded in response as she typed away on her phone. The car only traveled a short distance before it pulled up to the apartment where John had been staying with an old army friend. He sighed as he let himself out of the car. "I'm assuming he is waiting upstairs?" John had asked before he walked away. "Yep." She responded, never looking up.

John quickly climbed the stairs and sure enough, Mycroft was waiting for him. "Good to see you again John." Mycroft said with a forced smile. John was surprised at how tired he looked.

"You too." The doctor replied. "You do realize this is where I was walking to. You could have just waited the ten minutes it takes me to get here." He added in an attempt to lighten the mood.

"Thirteen" Mycroft had responded, now sitting on the couch.

"What?" John asked as he sat down on the chair across from his guest.

"Thirteen minutes, your limp is returning. Any worse and you will need to start using your cane again." He clarified. "Now, we need to talk. I'm sure you remember our first meeting, don't you John. As I recall, you promised not to hurt him."

"I didn't do it on purpose!" John had replied indignantly "Last week just spiraled out of control. I yelled at him for setting the table on fire and he went completely mental. He kicked me out!" He finished, feeling a fresh wave of sadness.

"That isn't what Sherlock thinks happened." Mycroft replied coldly, monitoring John's reaction. "He seems to be under the impression that you left him because you are tired of him and his, ahh, quirks."

John's heart leaped when he realized that Sherlock hadn't actually kicked him out. "So he would let me come back home?" John inquired before he let his hopes get to high.

"Of course" Mycroft said as though it were obvious.

"Why didn't Sherlock come himself if that's true? He's the one that said that he was doing perfectly fine before he met me!" John inquired.

Mycroft sighed. "He still hasn't told you about before he met you, has he? I told him that he should. I would explain, but it is not my story to tell. Just remember John, Sherlock has had his struggles just like the rest of us, possibly even more. I'm sure he will explain when it becomes necessary." He had said cryptically.

Johns mind reeled as it took in this new information. Sherlock wasn't doing well before? Had there been something other than drugs that had been going on?

"I'm assuming that you will be returning to Baker Street. The car will be waiting for you outside. I'm sure I will see you soon." Mycroft had said as he picked up his umbrella and headed for the door. John had only nodded in response, but Mycroft hadn't seemed to be paying any attention as he exited the small apartment.

"What's taking so long?" Lestrade asked as he entered the kitchen, pulling John back to the present.

"Sorry, lost in thought." John replied, forcing back the memories that threatened to overtake him again.

"Getting lost in thought is Sherlock's job, yours was to get drinks!" Greg laughed as he took the bottle of wine out of John's hands.

"Hey Greg, you've known Sherlock longer than I have. What did he used to do around New Years?" John asked after double checking that he was out of earshot.

"I may have known him longer than you, but I'm sure you are more in tune with his personal life." He said with a suggestive wink. John only rolled his eyes and nodded so that Greg would continue. "I honestly I haven't the faintest idea. He would disappear for a few weeks and show back up out of the blue as though he had never left. At first I thought he was visiting family, now I'm not sure" He finished with a shrug. This information left John more confused than before. "_Sherlock hadn't just gotten high on New Years or ignored it? Why hadn't anyone cared enough to ask him where he was or to go look for him_?" John wondered as he returned to the living room.

Detective inspector Lestrade was refilling everyone's wine. "Schug Sonoma Coast Pinot is my favorite, how kind of you to remember Gregory." Mycroft said with a smile as Greg poured him a glass. Sherlock opened his mouth, probably to insult Greg's taste in men or his brothers in wine. Sensing the oncoming storm, John plopped down beside him and popped a piece of cheese into the taller mans mouth. Sherlock shot John an "I told you so" look, but instead of interfering just placed his arm back over John's shoulder.

Greg had refilled everyone's wine and had come back to sit down next to Mycroft. John noticed how close they sat together, and he made a mental note to ask Lestrade about it next time they went down to the pub together.

The conversation had died down, so John decided to try to liven things up, they still had thirty minuets to go before the countdown. "Let's go around the room and each say what one of our New Year's resolutions are." He suggested. He turned to his right, "You should go first Mrs. Hudson."

"Oh, well if you say so dearie. My resolution is to go visit my sister more often and to keep you two out of any more trouble." She said with a smile, and John could feel Sherlock rolling his eyes. He elbowed him in response. "That's sweet Mrs. Hudson, we'll try to help you out as much as we can. Harry, your turn."

She cleared her throat. "My goal is to be the best girlfriend I can possibly be." She said, turning to look at Lyn.

"Aww, that was going to be my resolution!" Lyn laughed in response as she leaned over for a kiss.

"Well that's boring and -oomph!" Sherlock interjected, stopped by another jab from John. "You do realize that if you don't stop I'm going to bruise."

"Well it wouldn't be the first time, you bruise easily." John responded before he realized how it could be misinterpreted. Harry gave him a "My girlfriend also bruises easily too" kind of look. John could feel the blush rising, and was suddenly hyper aware of how he was practically in Sherlock's lap from all their wiggling around on such a small seat. He tried to scoot over, but the detective didn't seem to mind.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized how much he enjoyed being this close to Sherlock. Sure they were usually a bit touchy, but that was at home and in private. A lingering hand while passing a cup of tea, leaning over each other's shoulders to read something for a case, hands on a shoulder or back as you passed were all a normal occurrence on Baker street. John realized that it may have looked a bit odd to someone else, but it worked for them. This kind of touch felt different, more personal. John realized that it was probably because Sherlock wasn't usually this touchy in front of others. "Why was he allowing it now?" John wondered. He could feel every breath Sherlock took. The soft rise and fall of his chest was soothing against his side. The sweet smell of his shampoo was so strong that he could almost taste it. He sighed, and felt Sherlock's arm warm and heavy on his shoulders, his fingers tracing gentle circles on his upper arm. "That's very odd." John realized. This thought pulled him out of half sleep he had fallen into, and he glanced at his watch.

"One minute left!" He exclaimed.

Sherlock sighed with annoyance, and John could feel it in his own chest. "Molly, Geoffrey, and Mycroft gave their resolutions. You didn't miss much though, they were all predictably dull.

"It's Greg!" Mycroft corrected, and Lestrade gave him an appreciative smile. In return, Sherlock merely gave them both another eye roll and pointed sigh of annoyance.

"That means it's your turn Sherlock, what's your resolution?" John asked, genuinely wanting to know.

Sherlock thought for a moment "Well, I suppose you could say it's-"

"Quick! Fifteen seconds, stand up!" Harry interrupted loudly, causing everyone to jump. They all stood, and it took John a moment to untangle himself from Sherlock.

Molly turned to the clock on the mantle. "Everyone, look at your numbers and find your match. The game is on!"


	4. Chapter 4

Hello and thanks for reading!

I do not own any of the characters. All I do is borrow them from BBC and Doyle and put then in different situations.

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Chapter 4

Everyone scrambled to find their partner. The air was buzzing with excitement as they prepared to ring in the New Year.

_**10**_

"Remember," Harry added loudly "It has to be on the lips!"

_**9**_

John scrambled around in his pockets until he found his paper. After a moment of struggle, he unfolded he small square of paper. He is number three.

_**8**_

The air was full of voices and shuffling feet as people moved about.

_**7 **_

"Who has number three?" John called, standing on his tip toes trying to see around people.

_**6**_

"That would be me." Drawled a well educated British accent to his left. John thought he knew who it was, but turned to see anyway. Sherlock looked at him with wide eyes, obviously not sure how to handle the situation.

_**5**_

"Oh God, anyone but him." John moaned as he locked eyes with the smirking face that was now in front of him. He could feel his stomach drop, and he knew this act would have an effect on his relationship with Sherlock. "_This can't end well._" He thought to himself.

_**4**_

"Really John, relax." The taller man said, still giving him the 'Aren't humans so amusing' smirk. "I assure you, I am as opposed to this as you are, but we did agree to play." He added for good measure. John could feel Sherlock's eyes piercing him, and John made every effort not to look at him.

_**3**_

"Yes, but I'm not sure how Sherlock will react to me kissing his brother." John said to Mycroft with a nervous chuckle. "Well if what you say is true and you're not together, he shouldn't have a problem with it." Mycroft laughed in response. Sherlock was across the room standing with Harry, who was holding his arm and talking his ear off already.

_**2**_

"We're not!" John corrected. "Then I'm sure Sherlock will survive." Said Mycroft, who also could feel the heat of the glare Sherlock was giving them both.

_**1**_

Mycroft stepped forward, and it took all John's willpower not to step back. It wasn't that he disliked Mycroft, although John did wish that he wouldn't kidnap him so often. Mycroft is a perfectly nice guy; it's just that the thought of kissing him was like kissing Harry. Very weird. Mycroft was like the overprotective in law that you wouldn't know or hangout with if it weren't for the middle person holding you together.

_**HAPPY NEW YEAR!**_

It was the strangest kiss John had ever endured. Mycroft had acted as though they would not have any contact other than lips. That was until he realized what a great view Sherlock had. As soon as he knew Sherlock was going to watch them the whole time, the plan changed. John could almost see the gears turning as Mycroft made a decision. "Happy New Year! Every one yelled, and then Mycroft made his move. He planted a firm hand on John's waist and pulled them flush while at the same time turning them ninety degrees. Now John could see Sherlock's face, which was currently giving Mrs. Hudson a peak on the cheek while still looking John in the eye. Before john could truly process what was going on, Mycroft had took his other hand and placed it on the back of John's neck. It felt like an hour, but in reality the kiss was over after about three seconds. The last thing John saw before being pulled to Mycroft was Sherlock looking quite shell-shocked. Mycroft's kiss wasn't bad, but it was definitely weird. _"Why the hell did I agree to this?!"_ John thought as he felt Mycroft's warm lips on his. It was all John could do not to shudder as he thought about the fact that he was basically trading saliva with his flatmate's brother and as he felt the slight brush of tongue on this bottom lip. There was a moment of awkward 'How long does this have to last' before Mycroft released him.

John immediately wiped his mouth afterwards, as did Mycroft. "What the hell was that?" John asked the taller man forcefully.

"You'll see." Mycroft said cryptically as he wandered off to look for Lestrade.

_"The weirdness must be genetic"_ John thought as he turned around.

"John! Wasn't the game fun?" Harry asked as she bounded over. "It _looked_ like you were enjoying yourself." She added with a wink.

"The game was fine. Have you seen Sherlock? John asked dismissively as he looked around.

"Oh, yes." Harry said, her chipper mood slipping momentarily."He looked a bit upset. I don't know where he is now though."

"Oh, thanks then." John said over his shoulder as he went to look for the detective. _"I wonder why he is upset?"_ John wondered. "_We aren't together like that, and it's not that bad. It was only a game."_

_**(WOSH RATTLE RATTLE RATTLE, WOSH RATTLE RATTLE RATTLE)**_

The storm had picked up, and was now blowing so hard the windows were rattling. The noise brought the storm back to everyone's attention, seeing as they ha all forgotten about it in the merry making.

"We've got to go. If the storm gets any worse we won't be able to leave. Thanks for having us over Johnny!" Harry said as she gave John another rib breaking hug. "Call me some time!"

"I'll will. Thanks for coming Harry, and nice to meet you Lyn!" John said honestly as the exited the flat.

"Mycroft said he would give us a ride home, so were leaving too." Said Greg. "Thanks for the party john, it was lovely!" Said Molly as she followed Greg out the door.

Mycroft was the last to leave, and he looked as though he had something to say. John braced himself, knowing that it had to have something to do with the game.

"Thank you John, for looking out for him. It really means a lot, although he may not say it." Mycroft said seriously, sticking his hand out.

John was stunned for a moment, but gave in to the complement. Mycroft was a Holmes though and through, so hard to figure out. "You're welcome, but it's really Sherlock who helps me. He's a great man, he just has trouble knowing he is also a good one." John responded as he shook his hand. Mycroft nodded, and went downstairs to give Molly and Lestrade a ride home.

John turned around to find Mrs. Hudson trying to tidy up the living room. "Mrs. Hudson it's kind of you to help, but it's almost one in the morning! I'll clean it myself tomorrow." John laughed as he reached walked over and took the empty cups of wine and sherry from her hands.

"If you say so John." She sighed "When Sherlock comes back; give him a good talking to. You boys shouldn't be out in this kind of weather, particularly this late at night!"

"What? When did he leave?" John asked, startled that he hadn't noticed him go.

"He didn't tell you where he was going? He left just after midnight." She said with a look of concern.

"I'm sure he just ran to the morgue or the shop for cigarettes. I'll wait up for him and tell him off for leaving in the snow, so go home and don't worry Mrs. Hudson." John said as he ushered her to the door. Apparently mollified, she gave him a pat on the shoulder and went down to her apartment.

_"Might as well be productive if I'm going to wait on Sherlock."_ John thought as he began picking up around the flat. Apart from the howling of the wind, it was completely silent as John picked up empty cups and used napkins. It was almost one, but John wasn't concerned. It was very common for Sherlock to dash off somewhere, although if he was planning on being out for a long time he had learned that John likes to be informed. John remembered the first time Sherlock had tried to pull his disappearing act a little over a year ago.

It had been a perfectly normal day, well, as perfectly normal as working on a case could be. It air was hot and muggy as John and Sherlock sat in the living room, and the afternoon sunshine floated in through the open windows. The case had hit a bit of a dead end, which was why John was sitting there with his tea while Sherlock was deep in his mind palace. _"I don't know what he's doing, but he'd better do it quickly or else he'll pass out."_ John thought with concern. Sherlock was hanging upside down off the couch with his ankles crossed over the back and his dark curls resting gently on the floor. After a few more minutes, John had gone over to check him. Tea in hand, he walked over and stood next to Sherlock. The taller man's face was a bit flushed, and the Doctor side of John kicked in. "Bloody git, it's a wonder he hasn't hurt himself yet. Well, hurt himself severely." John had said to himself as he checked Sherlock's feet, which were turning blue. It didn't look good, so the Doctor had knelt down to check the strength of the pulse in his neck. John knew he shouldn't startle Sherlock when he was in his mind palace, so he was very gentle as he placed his fingers on Sherlock's long ivory neck. After a moment of gentle probing to find the vein John sighed. "_He's been upside down to long. I'm going to hav-_ AHAAA!" John yelped, toppling backwards and spilling tea on the floor. Sherlock had leaped up as though he had been electrocuted, scaring John in the process. The taller mad looked confused for a moment as he observed John on the tea covered floor.

They stared at each other a moment, both a bit dazed. "Why are you on the floor?" Sherlock said, breaking the silence.

"I was checking your pulse! You do realize that being upside down for that long isn't good for you." John said heatedly and he scrambled to get up. Sherlock offered his hand, and John pulled himself off the floor. "What made you get up?"

Sherlock jumped and went for the door. "I have a theory for the case!" He called as he dashed out the door. John had stood there for a moment in the empty flat, still not sure what Sherlock was doing, before he went off to get a rag to clean up the tea. Sherlock hadn't returned that afternoon, so John had sat up that night reading. The hours had ticked by slowly and at some point in the early morning John must have nodded off because he woke up in his armchair at around lunch to an empty flat. That was when John started to worry, so he called Greg.

It took a few rings, but eventually he answered. "Detective Inspector Lestrade speaking."

"Hey, do you know where Sherlock is?" John asked immediately.

There was a long pause, and Greg had sighed as though he was irritated at Sherlock. "He didn't tell you. He ran in here like a madman yesterday, saying he needed the dead girl's purse. After rummaging through it a moment, he called his brother and I heard him say something about needing plane tickets. I assumed he was taking you with him, or at the very least he would have told you where he was going." Greg finished apologetically.

It had taken John a moment to process what the DI had said and when he did, he was fuming. "Thanks Greg, I'll call Mycroft."

"No problem, good luck!" Greg said as John hung up the phone, only to immediately call Mycroft.

"Hello." Anthea answered, almost before it had rung.

"Where is Sherlock." John had said with obvious irritation. There was a pause, and John could hear the muffled voices of Anthea and Mycroft in the background.

"It's Dr. Watson.

Well what does he need?

He wants to know where your brother is.

… _sigh_ … Give me the phone."

"Hello John, what can I help you with?" Mycroft said, and John could practically see him pinching the bridge of his nose like he usually did when stressed.

"Where is Sherlock?" John asked forcibly. There was another pause while Mycroft sighed, and John could hear a mumbled 'Oh dear'.

"He is in France for a case. I assumed he had told you, or I would have called you myself. I am so sorry for the miscommunication John."

"Oh no, It's not your fault." John assured with barely controlled rage. As much as he hated to admit it, it had hurt that it hadn't even crossed Sherlock's mind say where he was going. "It is 100% Sherlock's fault. When will he be back?"

"The return ticket is for tonight at eleven" Mycroft had said. An alarm started ringing in the background. "Nice speaking to you again." He said as he hung up. This had left John with eleven hours to brood and plan what he was going to do.

Just as Mycroft had said, at a little after eleven Sherlock had burst into the flat. "JOHN!" The detective had called, looking around the flat "I solved the c-" John had entered the living room, and the look on his face stopped Sherlock cold.

"Where the _HELL_ have you been." He said, working hard to keep from shouting. Sherlock stood there stunned for a moment, blinking slowly.

"I was out on a case. I had to see if her lover had an alibi, but he lives in France."

"Why didn't you say you were going out for so long? I was worried." Said John, his anger ebbing as he saw that Sherlock hadn't intentionally left him out.

"You were worried?" The brunet had said with a puzzled look. "I didn't think you would care. No one usually notices I've been gone."

John was stunned. Sherlock really didn't have any other friends, or even pleasant acquaintances. He supposed that Greg and Molly would care but they were used to not seeing him for weeks at a time, and Mrs. Hudson would just assume he was out on a case. No wonder a man that lonely had turned to drugs. John placed a hand on the taller man's arm. "Well I do care." He said gently "Please, just tell me if you're going to be gone for a long time or going somewhere dangerous. You know I will go anywhere with you" Sherlock had stood there a moment, but ultimately agreed to Johns request.

Since then Sherlock has kept his word. Whenever he leaves for an extended length of time, he always either tells John where he is going or more commonly, just drags him along or the adventure. This is why even as the clock chimed two, John wasn't concerned. That is, until he looked up and saw the familiar coat and scarf were still on their hanger. John jumped up from his chair and tried to call Sherlock, only to hear the ringing coming from the kitchen. Knowing that there wasn't any way Sherlock could have sneaked in without him seeing, John realized that something had happened that pulled Sherlock out into the blizzard without any protection from the cold. It had been about two hours since anyone had last seen Sherlock. Now he was concerned.

* * *

Well, it wasn't a Sherlolly kiss! :P Please comment! I love input and I _finally_ figured out how to respond. Thanks again for reading, and I'm hoping to get the next chapter up soon!


	5. Chapter 5

Hello and thanks for reading! I know the story is moving a bit slow, I just finished moving to a new town. Sorry, I'll make sure to update soon! I made a bit of fanart for the story, so if you're interested look it up on deviantart with my username morgan730.

Again, I do not own any of the characters. All I do is borrow them in put then in different situations.

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Chapter 5

John could feel his heart pounding as turned to the phone. He called the morgue, and it felt like hours before anyone picked up. "E'llo?" Said the gruff voice of the new intern.

"Hi, It's John. Is Sherlock there?" John rushed.

"No. 'E hasn't been here t'day."

"Okay then, thanks" John said as he hung up, not waiting for any more information. He was quite panicked now, so he tried his last resort.

"Yes?" Asked Anthea as she picked up the phone.

"I need to speak to Mycroft." John responded quickly, forgoing a hello. He could hear Anthea sigh.

"He isn't home yet, and has requested that I not bother him this evening."

"What?" John said, startled. "He's missing too?"

This question earned him another exasperated sigh from the assistant. "No. I know exactly where he is, he just said he is taking the evening off and would not be returning home tonight. For personal reasons." It took John a moment to comprehend that Mycroft must be staying over at someone's house. How is that possible when the only people he left the party with were Molly and Greg? Of course it couldn't be Greg but Molly was single. John doubted it was her given how shy she was but on the other hand she does handle Sherlock well, maybe she just has a thing for the Holmes brothers. He finally responded after a rather awkward pause.

"Er, well, alight then. Do you know where Sherlock is?

"Hmmm, let me check." She said. "Our visibility is almost none due to the storm, but our last camera sighting was at 2:17 pm walking north on the East side of the boating lake in Regent's park."

"Thanks then." John said as his panic ebbed. Instead of Sherlock being kidnapped, he had just wandered off. Great. "I'll go look for him there." John said with a sigh.

"Fine, but be careful. It's too cold to stay out for long."

"Ok, I'll keep that in mind." He said as he hung up the phone and put it in his pocket. John could feel himself getting angry as he pulled on his coat and grabbed Sherlock's out of the closet. It was just like Sherlock to rush off without a single thought about if someone, namely John, would be worried. He slammed the door and stomped down the stairs and onto the street. The wind swirled around him in a mix of ice and snow as he stepped out into the frigid storm. He understood that Sherlock wasn't particularly concerned about self preservation, but they had already had one scare and he had been doing everything he could to prevent another one. The wind and ice felt as though it was going right through his jacket as he made his way slowly down the road to the park, where he could see the snow was even deeper. Last time had been the exact opposite, and he thought about how blindingly hot it had been as he made his way along.

John had known Sherlock was willing to do anything to solve a case, he just hadn't realized how far Sherlock could push his body before it broke. It was easy to forget he was just a man. Most people only ever got to see the sociopathic stare and receive a rude remark. John was the one who got to see how gentle he was with Mrs. Hudson or how no matter what, he would make sure to feed the stray cat that sleeps out behind the bins. To John Sherlock had become a hero, a hero that could go forever on nothing more than the thrill of the chase. The way he kept the homeless network running so efficiently was astounding and when he played the violin, John could feel the emotion running through him like a wave. To him, Sherlock was perfect, but all it took was one incident to come to terms with the truth.

It had been just a few months ago in early September, shortly after the summer bank holiday. It's hard to believe how much the weather had changed in so short a time. Although the weather man said it was just at 100 degrees, with the heat radiating off the pavement it was really closer to 120. The air seemed to bake everything it came into contact with, so everyone with any sense was indoors. Everyone that is, other than John and Sherlock. They had just about finished up a case in this record breaking heat when Sherlock decided that he needed to ask the brother a few more questions. They were working a case where two brothers shared a house and the oldest had been found murdered in the broom closet the day before. The reason they were on the case is because the brother appears to have died from non-self induced strangulation inside of the closet that locks from the inside. Sherlock and John had been riding in a cab, but even with the air conditioning on their backs were sticking to the seats.

John had the common sense to dress accordingly, and despite how unusual it was for him had gone out in only a white t-shirt and a pair of cargo shorts. Even so the seat felt sticky and uncomfortably warm as he shifted around. Sherlock on the other hand had insisted on wearing his usual black dress pants and a long sleeve green shirt, choosing to forgo the coat was the only change he allowed. John knew how hot Sherlock must have been in that getup, but Sherlock acted as though he hadn't noticed he was sweating so badly that the shirt stuck to him. John could see every muscle on the taller mans back as he leaned forward, tapping away on his phone. His deep brown curls stuck to his head in tight ringlets from the heat, and instinctively John reached out to brush them off of Sherlock's forehead without a second thought. Just before John could, the cab jerked to a stop at the brother's house, and Sherlock jumped up. Without even a glance back, Sherlock left John with his hand in the air to pay for the cab.

"Inconsiderate git." John muttered as he fumbled for his wallet. It had taken John a bit longer than usual to pay, seeing as it was so hot his card stuck to his wallet. The cab had only just pulled off when John heard the door behind him swing open violently. Spinning around, he saw the younger brother dash off down the street with Sherlock hot on his heels. John had known that he couldn't keep up with them given their head start but took off after them anyway, pulling his phone out to inform DI Lestrade as he ran. His lungs burned from the heat, and he was sweating profusely. It felt as though each breath was setting his lungs on fire as they filled with the dry heat. After only a few blocks John had lost track of them, so he texted Greg the location and set off at a jog to find them.

It was several minutes before he rounded a corner to find that there were already police cars and an ambulance at the entrance of the alley where Sherlock must have cornered the criminal. At the sight of the ambulance, John began to run again, worried that maybe the younger brother had been armed. John had always worried that one day Sherlock would get hurt because of his job, and the thought of Sherlock laying dead in an alley mad his stomach turn. Instead a body, John had seen the handcuffed criminal sitting on the edge of the ambulance holding an icepack and drinking water. At the sound of footsteps, John turned around to find Greg running up the long alley.

"John, you've got to go get Sherlock. I don't think he's doing well in this heat and he won't let the EMTs near him." Lestrade had called before turning back, knowing John would follow. John's heart sank as he took off down the alley, the heat radiating off the buildings making it feel like an oven. The DI kept his distance from the dumpster Sherlock was crouching behind, letting John do what he needed to. Sherlock was on his knees dry heaving, his limbs trembling from exhaustion in the sweltering heat.

"Sherlock? Sherlock! Are you okay? We need to get you to the ambulance." John said as he gently tried to help the brunet to his feet. Instead of standing, Sherlock looked at him with wild eyes and grabbed the front of his shirt, trying to push him off.

"nO! i NEED my JOHN!" He slurred, and as John pulled him up his eyes suddenly lost focus. John realized what was about to happen a split second before it occurred, and he only just had time to catch Sherlock's head as he crashed to the ground.

"GET HELP!" John had yelled to Lestrade, still holding onto Sherlock's head. His limbs had gone ridged, and Sherlock began to shake as the seizure took over. The seconds felt like hours as he sat there helpless holding on to his best friend's head, watching him jerk uncontrollably while completely unresponsive. It felt as if everything was happening underwater as he watched the EMT s take over. John could no longer feel the burning heat or hear the concerned voices of the police officers who were watching. He had sat powerless in the ambulance as it screamed down the road, Sherlock being pumped full of medication and fluid to try and steady his racing heart. John was relieved when the seizing stopped, but he knew that it didn't mean Sherlock was alright. The EMTs were busy checking his hydration levels and adding new icepacks, John took a moment to brush the dark curls off of his friend's forehead. They soon arrived at , and John was ushered out of the ambulance by a reedy nurse, and was told to go sit in the waiting room.

"I WILL NOT SIT IN A DAMN WAITING ROOM!" Johns exploded at the bossy nurse.

"But Mr. Watson you ne-" She said with a condescending look before she was interrupted.

"It is _DR_. Watson. I can help." John insisted angrily.

The head nurse pulled her aside to explain the situation, and John had been so filled with worry and anger that he hadn't even cared that he had to sign in as Sherlock's husband to be allowed to the ICU with him. Thanks' to Mycroft, Sherlock was quickly placed in a room and John did his best to hide how misty his eyes were. John had sat in the hard wooden chair by Sherlock's bed for hours, just watching him sleep. It wasn't often he was able to see the detective sleeping so peacefully and he usually treasured the moment's when he could, but right now all John wanted was for him to wake up. After checking to make sure no one was around John took Sherlock's elegant hand in his own, rubbing soft circles on his palm. He must have dosed off, because he woke up slumped onto the bed beside Sherlock. It took him a moment to realize that what had waked him was the sound of Sherlock speaking with Lestrade.

"Sherlock! When did you wake up? How are you feeling?" John had exclaimed, trembling with relief as he sat up and feeling as though a heavy weight had been removed from his chest. Sherlock was sitting propped up in bed, sill hooked to an IV and heart monitor but very much alive. He looked down at John with a small smile.

"I woke up just a minute ago when Gerome took a picture." Sherlock said, shooting the DI with a glare.

Greg just smiled and shrugged "I thought it was cute!"

John was confused for a moment before turning beet red as he realized that he was still holding Sherlock's hand.

"Sorry, your hand was cold." John muttered, rubbing the back of his neck from the awkward sleeping arrangement. He stopped suddenly, remembering why Sherlock had landed in the hospital in the first place. "YOU GIT!" He exclaimed suddenly, startling both detectives. "You are a bloody adult! You should know the limitations of the human body by now! There was no need to have chased him like that! If you kept yourself up like a normal human being and would eat or drink something, you wouldn't have gotten this bad! You scared me to death you arsehole and it was completely preventable! You. Are. _Not_ .Immune .To .The .Weather . You've got to promise me that you are never going to something this stupid again." John had finished, giving the taller man a stern look. Lestrade had left the room silently in the middle of the lecture to give them some privacy. Sherlock was staring at him, stunned.

"I, I'm sorry. I don't understand why you are so angry, but I promise." Sherlock had said, looking at him inquisitively. John opened his mouth to explain, but chose instead to remain silent. How could he possibly explain his feelings to a sociopath? It's not like Sherlock was ever kept up at night worrying that their next chase would be John's last. But looking at how sincerely confused Sherlock was, John had realized then that Sherlock was just as flawed as everyone else, and that it didn't keep him from being perfect in John's eyes.

"Well, that promise only lasted three months." John thought as he trudged further into the park through the snow. It was so cold his teeth were chattering, but he didn't dare put on Sherlock's coat. That man had a weird connection with his coat, and the thought of putting it on felt as intimate as if he was considering wearing Sherlock's underwear. He could just see the look of disdain on Sherlock's face as he deduced that John had dared to put on his coat.

John stopped at the edge of the lake and looked around for some hint that Sherlock had been there. It was impossible for any footprints to have remained with the wind and snow blowing so hard, so John really had no idea what he was looking for. "Sherlock. Sherlock!" John called as he wandered around in the vague direction of North. The wind cHilled him to the bone and his shivering grew worse, but he went on. "Sherlock! SHERLOCK!" He yelled. Just up ahead, John saw a shadow figure dart behind a large fir tree near a lamp post. "It is too bloody cold to be playing games." John muttered as he went after the person. With the visibility down to only a few feet John leaped behind the tree, accidentally stepping on the person trying to get under it.

"Oy! What'chu playing at?" The voice exclaimed. John was surprised, but instead of dragging the person out from under the tree decided to join him beneath it. Underneath the tree wasn't so bad, at least it was dry and the wind was blocked. The man who was already partially under the tree was staring at him indignantly. He was a homeless man about thirty, with a wiry build and an obvious drug habit. It took John a moment to recover from the shock; it wasn't every day he found himself laying under a tree in a blizzard with a homeless person. "My, name is John Watson. I'm looking for a tall man wandering around out here without a coat, his name is Sherlock Holmes." He said as he stuck his hand out to shake.

"I know who you are. That's why I got'chu under here. Sherlock wouldn't want 'es blogger cachi'n cold." The man replied with an eye role worthy of a Holmes.

John gave a sigh of relief, resisting the urge to inform the man that being cold isn't how you actually catch a cold. "Fantastic, so you're with the homeless network. You're who he was out here to see?"

"Um, no. I was just hanging out by the zoo 'fore the storm got this bad when I saw him walkin' up to Primrose Hill, they let us stay in the gazebo when it gets cold like this. I saw 'e was upset didn't have no coat, so I thought I should come tell you where 'e was. It took a bit to find out where you live or I'd of come sooner." The man explained solemnly.

"You know where I live? You know what, never mind. Thank you for your help!" John said as he untangled himself from the branches and stood up.

"Need me 't go with you?" Came the voice from under the tree.

"No no, I can handle it. Nice to meet you, um..."

"They call me the Wig." He said, poking his head out from under the tree.

John tried to hold back a laugh, "Ahem, sure they do. Goodbye Mr. Wig." he said as he took off back into the storm. Primrose Hill was usually a beautiful spot, where at night you could look out over the glittering lights of the city. Right now it was a cold and barren wasteland from what John could see, which was only about a three feet ahead of him at his point. The blizzard felt like it was at its peak, with the ice clinging to John's hair and the snow working its way into his jacket. He trudged shivering up the Hill to the lookout, a round brick area with benches at the very top of the Hill. This Hill is usually where lovers took moon lit strolls to gaze at the scenery, but Sherlock used it for a different purpose. When in need of information, all you had to do was sit on a bench facing away from the view and you would be approached by someone from the network. They would ask you for some change to buy apples, and you would need to reply that you only have change to buy pears. At this point you would slip them a piece of paper asking for the information, and somehow they always found you to tell what they found.

John reached the spot and found it completely deserted. He paced around the circle, trying to decide what to do. The wind was so cold John couldn't feel his fingers or nose, and he knew that if Sherlock was outside it wouldn't end well. Why did Sherlock disappear? Where would that idiot have gone after reaching the Hill? Should he go back and wait for the detective at home? Why did "The Wig" say Sherlock looked upset? All these questions consumed John's mind as he paced around, looking for an answer. Giving up, John turned to head back home, deciding that if Sherlock wasn't there waiting then he would call the yard. As John turned, he didn't see the ice coating the bricks under the snow. John heard the crack of his skull against the low stone wall surrounding the circle, but felt so numb that he didn't feel it. He fell onto the snow covered ground as he sank into an icy darkness alone in the snow.

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Please comment! I love getting input, it usually helps inspire the next chapter. I am going to try and have the next chapter out by July 12th when the summer semester ends, so wish me luck! ;D


	6. Chapter 6

Hello everyone! Please point out any spelling/grammar errors, I do not have a beta reader and I would love to fix any mistakes you may notice.

Disclaimer: I do not own ANY of the characters. They belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and are beautify interpreted by the writers and actors at BBC.

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Chapter 6

"_Breath in, breath out. Breath in, breath out._"

"Beep...Beep...Beep... Beep..."

The air was crisp and cool as John tried to open his eyes. His head was fuzzy; could remember the feeling of the hard stone as he cracked his head. John struggled further, and all he could see through barely parted eyes was a blinding white light. "_Fantastic. I'm dead. A tour in Afghanistan and all it takes is a slip on the ice to kill me._" John thought sarcastically. He lay there a moment, listening. John could hear the beeping of the heart monitor, and off in the distance the quiet chatter of nurses. "_Well it doesn't sound like I'm dead. It sounds like I'm at work! I must be in the hospital._" John decided to take a mental tally of his injuries. "_Head is killing me, hopefully figuratively. Shoulders fine. Torso bruised, maybe a cracked rib. Ouch! My ankle is definitively broken. That's going to make work difficult. Legs feel fine. Arms are good. Hands feel nice. Wait, nice_?" John's mental tally screeched to a halt. "_Someone is holding my hand. Why is someone holding my hand?!_" The hand was warm and soft against John's right hand. It was barely calloused, with long fingers that intertwined perfectly with John's shorter ones. Its thumb was rubbing gentle circles on the top of John's hand in a soothing way. "_Who is it? It feels like a man, but I have no idea who - Oh my god. Sherlock is holding my hand_." It wasn't the first time he had held hand's with Sherlock, but it had always just been while running on a case so he wouldn't get lost, or a gentle pull to get the others attention. This felt so much more intimate, knowing that Sherlock was holding his hand for no other reason than to be there with him. "_Mmm, it's actually quite nice._" John thought as he reveled in the feeling of Sherlock's gentile caress. He was only allowed a few more moments' peace before his serenity was interrupted.

" *Click* Aww, how sweet. Should'a known you'd be taking care of him; I'll come back when he's awake." Lestrade said, obviously trying not to laugh.

"It won't be much longer. I'm sure he will appreciate the fact that you took a picture of him passed out in the hospital." Sherlock replied sarcastically.

"That's not why I took the picture." Lestrade chuckled as he exited the room. Sherlock continued to hold John's hand as the sound of Greg's shoes echoed in the hallway as he left to go sit in the waiting room.

"You do realize that people who are asleep do not blush." Sherlock said.

John turned a brighter shade of red. "How long have you known I was awake?"

"Since you woke up. Your breathing pattern changed." Was Sherlock's reply, then without waiting for John to process this information, he began his questions. "Why on earth would you think I was out on Primrose Hill? Even if I had been, why would you bother to bring my coat? Did you not realize how cold it was; of course the bricks would be icy! Even Anderson could have deduced where I was if-"

"Well then where were you?!"John said heatedly, interrupting Sherlock's increasingly angry questions.

"I was at home of course! Did you even look to see if my shoes were there? What kind of idiot would go out in a blizzard without shoes on? Now, why were you bringing me my coat?" Sherlock sighed in exasperation.

John paused a moment. He had been in such a blind panic that it hadn't even occurred to him that he should check to see if Sherlock's shoes were in the closet. "We can discuss your coat in a minute. I asked Mrs. Hudson, and she said you had gone out! How on earth did you manage to leave and come back without me seeing you?

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I thought that would be obvious, the fire escape."

"But the fire escape is a good twelve feet off the- you know what, never mind. The better question is _why_ you broke into your own home." John said, pinching the bridge of his nose with the hand that wasn't being held by Sherlock.

The taller man paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts. "Fine, but first you must tell me why you went out in a blizzard just to bring me my coat."

John hadn't really given any thought to why he had to bring Sherlock his coat; he had just felt like it was what he should do. "I brought you your coat because it's cold and you're irresponsible."

Sherlock ignored the jab at his maturity and stared at John intently. "But why you? You could have easily called the yard and someone would have tried to find me. You knew how risky it was to go out in that weather, but you went anyway."

John found himself blushing again. "I-I was just worried you were out there in the snow unprotected. It didn't occur to me to have someone else go after you, although I was about to head back and call them when I fell. After the incident this summer, I didn't want to risk losing you again. Now, you have to tell me why you wanted me to think you were gone."

He looked up and was alarmed to see that if you looked closely, you could see Sherlock's eyes had gone a bit misty at John's confession. Sherlock's cheeks turned the faintest shade of pink as he answered. "I didn't intentionally make you think I was gone! I was getting annoyed with all the people in our flat, so I decided to make them think I had left so that they wouldn't bother me in my room."

John had a feeling Sherlock wasn't telling him the whole truth, but instead of confronting it, the shorter man decided to press the issue later.

"Now as to my other question, why would you think I was at Primrose Hill?" Sherlock asked.

"Well I had looked everywhere else, and Mycroft's cameras had last seen you near the pond. Once I got over there, I asked one of your homeless network members, and he said he had seen you heading towards the hill. I thought you must have needed information for something, and at the very least whoever was there could tell me where you went." John replied with an exasperated sigh. Sherlock stared at him for a minute with his piercing eyes, clearly deep in thought. "_What could possibly be wrong now_?" John thought as he observed the taller man.

Finally, Sherlock broke the deafening silence. "You never fully answered my first question."

"When you asked why I brought you your coat? Yes I did, it was cold." John remarked, looking confused at the redundant question.

"No, you told me why I needed a coat" Sherlock said, leaning closer to John as he grew agitated. "I need to know why _YOU_ brought my coat. You are always there John, passing me things, assisting with cases; you haven't even asked if we've told your girlfriend you were here. You never leave John, though I've given you so many reasons to. Why do you stay?" Sherlock finished, his hand like a vice on John's, his face so close John could smell the shampoo again.

_"I hadn't even thought about her once! Wow, I guess Sherlock was right yesterday when he said I didn't care very much for her. Mmm, his shampoo again. How could I possibly explain how I feel about him when I'm not even certain? Sure he's handsome, but apart from being a sociopath he wouldn't want a relationship with me. He even turned me down the first night we met, and I hadn't even realized I was flirting! Harry's gay, and her coming out is what drove us away from our family. I don't want to lose my friends, and the last thing I would ever want to do is risk what I have with Sherlock on the off chance we could date."_ John though as he chewed his bottom lip. Resolved to lie to Sherlock, he looked up to reply. John suddenly found himself unable to speak; he was mesmerized by Sherlock's eyes that were mere inches from his own. Instead of the usual hunger for information that always lurked behind those eyes, John was surprised at the raw emotion he saw pouring out. Behind those eyes John saw the obvious fear like an icy pool without an end. John glanced down, and the Cupid's bow lips were pressed into a thin line, waiting for a response. John looked back up, only to see that Sherlock's eyes glistened with hope, having deduced something from John's musings. Before the shorter man could do anything, Sherlock leaned in to close the last few inches and-

"Oh dear, It appears as though I'm interrupting. I'll return later." Mycroft said loudly just before Sherlock could do whatever it is he was about to do.

"What do you want?!" Sherlock spat as he sat up crossing his arms and turning to his brother, his temper flaring.

_"Oh my God. What was Sherlock going to -... No, surely not. Why didn't he just go for it? If he was going to, that was uncharacteristically hesitant of him. Has he ever - ? I mean, of course he must have at some point. There is no way that would have been his first kiss, right? Why would he kiss me? Do I even bloody want him to? Why did he think I wanted to? I wish he hadn't let go of my hand." _John thought as Sherlock gave Mycroft an overview of what had happened last night.

"Well, what an unfortunate miscommunication John. I'll have to have more cameras installed in the park. I trust you're feeling better?" Mycroft inquired, breaking John's train of thought.

"Wha- Oh, yes. I'm much better now. Just a broken ankle, slight concussion, and a gash on my head, but otherwise just fine." John responded as he turned red under Mycroft's amused look, who was no doubt basking in the fact that he had managed to kiss John before Sherlock could.

"_Competitive gits_."John thought as he noticed the daggers Sherlock was glaring at his brother.

"Well, it's good to hear you are doing well. I have some things to attend to, so I'll see myself out." Mycroft said as he turned to the door. Before he could leave Lestrade entered the room, apparently not noticing Mycroft as he walked over to John's bed.

"John! I'm glad to see you're up! I've been worried about you." Greg said with a huge grin as he clapped John on the shoulder, causing John to wince because of how sore he was. "Oops, sorry" The DI said sheepishly.

"It's alright, just a bruise." John said, downplaying his injuries.

"It's a bit more than just a bruise John." Mycroft said from the doorway. Lestrade jumped as though he had been electrocuted.

"Oh, Mike! I didn't see you there." Greg rushed, turning pink.

"Well I did. Didn't you just say you had something you needed to go do _Mike_?" Sherlock interjected before Mycroft could reply.

"Yes, but that was really only to give you and John some, ah, _privacy_. It looked like you two needed it." Mycroft shot back with forced courtesy.

"That sounds like a great idea. Have you had lunch yet? There's a great pizza place across from the bakery around the corner. Do you want to go?" Lestrade rushed, avoiding eye contact with both John and Sherlock.

"That sounds nice, I would love to go." Mycroft responded, ushering the DI out of the room without saying goodbye. As the two men walked down the hall, John could hear Lestrade telling Mycroft about the newest addition to his collection of embarrassing pictures. The room was silent now, apart from the steady beeping of the heart monitor. "_What now? Am I supposed to say something about what happened earlier? Why won't he look at me?_ John's thoughts were interrupted by Sherlock, who had stood up.

"Where are you going?" John asked, assuming now that he was awake , Sherlock would leave him to go home.

"The nurses' station." Was his reply, surprising John. The taller man stepped out of the room and John could hear his shoes squeak on the tile floor as he walked down the hall. "_Maybe I just misjudged the situation_." John thought in the cold silence of the hospital room. "_He could have any man he wanted, why on earth would he choose me? I'm sure it's just a phase. Probably relived I'm alright, and just doesn't know how to show it. I mean, it's absurd that he would be worried in the first place. I know I'm helpful, but it's in a very replaceable way. If something happened to me, I'm sure he would just find someone else to insult and have carry his things. I would be lost without him, but there is no way he knows that. He would be all right without me, but I would be broken without him. That's not a firm foundation for a relationship. I should just ignore whatever this is and wait for it blow over. That is assuming it was something, which it wasn't."_ John's thoughts were interrupted as Sherlock entered the room accompanied by the head nurse, a motherly woman with a stern face and kind eyes.

"Because you're a doctor, we have decided that you may be able to recuperate at home as long as you have assistance." She said.

_"Assistance? Who do they think is going to... oh no."_

"Your boyf-, um, Mr. Holmes, has assured us that he will keep an eye on you and help with daily tasks." She said, stumbling over the first bit. "Sit on the edge of the bed so I can check your vision and see how much your ankle can support." John pulled back the covers, and remembered that all he was wearing was a blue paper hospital gown. Turning red, he tried to cover himself as much as possible as the nurse shot him a look that clearly said to hurry up, there's other patients that need attending to. Ignoring the cool breeze that punctuated the fact that he wasn't wearing anything under the gown, John put his feet on the floor. Sherlock pointedly looked out the window during the entire time the nurse tested John's eyesight and had him bend his knee. After a few minutes examination, she instructed John to get back in bed.

"Well?" Sherlock asked, turning around after John was back under the covers.

"He can go." She said as she filled out some paperwork on the clipboard she had brought in. "Let's see. He will need crutches for at least six weeks, but for this week we want him off his foot. He will have some medicine to take every morning and night for the pain, but other that a dull ache it shouldn't hurt too bad. If it reaches a point where it feels unbearable, you'll need to bring him back in. The cut on his head shouldn't get wet, and will need to have the dressings changed every evening. He will have another appointment next week, but other than that he won't have to return until it's time for the cast to come off. Because of the concussion, he will need to be supervised for the next twelve hours. The head injury also can cause coordination issues, so that in addition to a cast that can't get wet it means that he'll need help bathing for the next two weeks. Other than that, he'll be fine!" Just then, an alarm started blaring at the nurses' station, so she shoved the release form into Sherlock's hand and ran down the hall."

"_Oh, no. This cannot end well. How is this going to work if I can't even take a bloody shower_?" John thought as Sherlock re-read the papers as if checking that the shower bit was an actual instruction, and not a joke.

After reading it twice, Sherlock sighed. "John, I already brought your clothes. You should get dressed while go get some crutches." He said, striding out of the room.

"_Fantastic, even Sherlock finds this weird_." John thought as he picked up the pile of clothes that were folded on the bedside table. "_Did he pick these out? Oh god I hope he didn't pick these out_." John pondered as he looked through the pile to find his cream sweater, jeans, and a pair of red pants that an ex-girlfriend had given him as a joke because they were so tight." John had only managed to get the red pants and the sweater on when Sherlock burst in while John was bent over trying to get his jeans over his cast.

"John I found the- I - I'll wait outside." Sherlock stammered, turning almost as red as the pants, which was impressive considering how pale the man was.

John groaned, as the door quickly slammed shut. "_This is going to be a long six weeks."_

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Wow, I can't believe I actually got this chapter done on time! I had been struggling to piece together the plot but everything sort of fell into place this morning, which resulted in me sitting at my desk for five hours straight writing. Please comment! I love getting input, it usually helps inspire the next chapter. I am moving next week, so I will probably be quite busy. I'm going to make sure the next chapter is out by August 9th, so be prepared for a chapter full of awkward John and Sherlock moments!


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello everyone! I am soooooooo sorry it has taken this long to update. I realize that I have really sassed the mark with my self imposed Aug 9th due date, so feel free to tar and feather me. Since I lost posted, I have moved twice, got a dog, started a new school, built two rooms on to the new house, and have been hopelessly lookin for a new job. I promise I will have the next chapter out by the end of the month, even if it kills me. Thank you **Resrie71**! I was struggling to add an awkward confrontation to this chapter, but your comment inspired me. Also, thank you to everyone who has read this story so far. Thanks' to all of you, we are only 42 views away from 3,000! Please point out any spelling/grammar errors, I do not have a beta reader. I anyone would like the position, I would be exceedingly grateful and will return the favor. As I am sure you all know, I did not invent the characters and all credit goes to BBC and Doyle. :)**

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Chapter 7

_"Well, this is fun."_ John thought bitterly, his aching bones rattling with every bounce of the car. He winced after a particularly sudden stop, and Sherlock looked over at him with concern. There wasn't really anything he could do to possibly make this situation more comfortable. John just sat back and tried to ignore the pain by replaying the whirlwind of events that had landed him squished between Sherlock and Mycroft in the back of a car. It had taken them longer than expected at the hospital, and John's cheeks turned pink as he remembered the events that had transpired.

"Bloody trousers!" John had cursed to himself as he struggled to put on the jeans. With a cast covering his ankle, they didn't want to fit. John grunted and strained as he tried desperately to push his cast through the hole, but to no avail. Once he calmed down, he decided that the problem was the pain medicine making his legs week and clumsy. What he needed, was someone to hold his foot at an angle while he pulled the trouser leg over it.

John groaned, resigning himself to the first of many humiliations this adventure would bring. He hobbled over to the door, still in only his jumper and the red pants. Hesitantly, he cracked it open. Sherlock, who had been leaning against said door, started as though he had been deep in thought and turned around.

"Are you re- ... um, is something wrong?" Sherlock stumbled as he noticed how the Doctor was hiding behind the door.

"Erm, well yes." John said, looking at the floor to keep from blushing.

"I brought the wrong clothes, didn't I?" Sherlock said, looking a bit disappointed in himself. "Mrs. Hudson was out, or I could have asked her. I would have just brought the clothes you were wearing, but it took a while to figure out how to use the new washer, so they were still wet. I'll just-"

"You did laundry?" John had interrupted with surprise "I didn't think you even knew where the washer was!"

"Of course I know where the washer is. As I recall, you ruined an experiment I had running and insisted on a new one." Sherlock said indignantly.

"It was full of blood! You can't spin eight wigs and a gallon of blood in a washer and not expect it to break." John chuckled, realizing how strange there conversation would sound to anyone else. The air conditioning cut on, and John suddenly remembered why he needed Sherlock. "Anyway, the clothes are fine." Sherlock's face brightened for a moment, then went back to its usual sociopathic place.

"I, um, I need your help. You know, because of the cast." Sherlock stared blankly at him a moment, then turned faintly pink as he realized that John must be standing behind the door in only his pants. The taller man only nodded, and John opened the door to let him in.

Sherlock pointedly avoided looking at any part of John other than his face, and John found this behavior quite odd for a man who wore nothing but a sheet to Buckingham palace. John sat down on the bed and tried to cover himself as best he could with his jumper, but with Sherlock staring at him he quickly gave up the endeavor. "Um, if you could just hold my cast as I put on my trousers; that would be fantastic." John said as he bent over, struggling to get the cast in his trousers.

Sherlock had only nodded and immediately got on his knees to help, which put his face only a few inches from John's. The shorter man's breath hitched as he stared into Sherlock's eyes, and he added another point to his shampoo tally. John coughed, and quickly looked away to resume his task. They both wrestled with the cast for a moment, obviously getting in each other's way.

"Being bent over can't be good for your head and you're in my way, I'll just do it." Sherlock had said. John would have argued with him, but the angle really was making him dizzy. Giving up, John sat back and let Sherlock try and fix it. Sherlock gently picked up John's cast, and slowly tried to ease the troublesome trousers over it. This was not an easy task, and Sherlock leaned in closer after the third failed attempt. John could feel Sherlock's warm breath gently tickling his leg, and he suddenly found the room very warm. He could feel every movement of Sherlock's dexterous violinist fingers as they carefully inched the trouser leg up. Just when John had thought he couldn't take it any longer, Sherlock pulled his foot through the trousers.

"Um, thanks. Sorry you had to do that." John said as he quickly put on the other trouser leg.

Sherlock stood up, brushing off his knees from where he had been on the floor. "It's quite alright, I did say I would take care of you." John found himself blushing again under the peculiar look Sherlock was giving him. To anyone else it would be appear to be indifference, but John could see that there was something else just below the surface; some sort of deeper meaning he was supposed to understand. John thought he knew all of Sherlock's look, but here was another new one.

"_What a strange day, I'll be glad when things are back to norma_l." John thought. They had quickly tidied up the room and took an elevator to the ground floor, where Sherlock tried to hail them a taxi in the bitter cold. Strangely enough, none of them seemed to see him. Sherlock, who usually only had to look at the street to get a cab, was growing irritated by how long it was taking and despite his protests, John insisted on standing outside with him despite the cold. John enjoyed watching the wind toss Sherlock's curls around and the way the cold made Sherlock's cheeks and nose turn red, giving his face an uncharacteristic amount of colour.

"Surely they see me, why on earth are they not- ah, Mycroft." The taller man said, realizing that Mycroft must be behind this. Sure enough, just then Mycroft's car came around the corner and stopped in front of them. Mycroft and Lestrade had been sitting in the back seat together, presumably because the passenger seat was filled with several grocery bags. Mycroft got out first, unperturbed by the cold, and held the door open so that Lestrade could exit. "_Maybe the bags were strategic?_" John thought as he realized that Mycroft could have easily have had someone deliver them.

"Sorry we are a bit late." Mycroft said as he shut the car door. His eyes immediately went to Sherlock's knees, his eyebrows shooting up as though to hide in his receding hairline as his mind jumped to how on earth that happened. Mycroft then turned his attention to John as if to double check his deduction; when his bemused eyes met John's, John realized what Mycroft must be thinking had happened and turned scarlet.

"We would have been fine if you hadn't kept the cabs from stopping. We've been out in the cold trying to hail one." Sherlock spoke up, shooting his brother a look that clearly said that what he did or did not do is none of his business.

"Your attempt at nursing is not off to a very good start if you have allowed John to stand out here in the snow." Mycroft shot back.

Indignantly, John replied before the younger Holmes could. "I'm an adult, thank you very much. Sherlock asked me to go inside but I wanted to stay with him."

Mycroft smirked, apparently deducing something from the way John had stood up for Sherlock. "Anyway, Greg had the fantastic idea to stop and get you both groceries seeing as John is unable to shop and there isn't any way you would do it."

John intervened again before Sherlock could start arguing with his brother. "Well, thank you both then. It's very kind." He said with a genuine smile for both DI Lestrade and the older Holmes.

Greg smiled back, and glanced down at his watch. "Oh! I didn't mean to be away from work so long. Feel better John, Sherlock take good care of him. Just so you know, most people at minimum eat three times a day."

"I know that. I am perfectly capable of taking care of John." Sherlock had replied indignantly. "Ow! ... Oh. Thank you for your assistance. Sherlock said, prompted by a jab from John's elbow.

Lestrade nodded and turned to Mycroft. "I, uh, really enjoyed lunch. Call me some time, you know, if you want. We could go out for drinks or something." Greg said, his ears turning red and the icy wind that was steadily increasing ruffled his silver hair.

"I'd love to. If you're not busy Thursday, I know a fantastic place for dinner." Mycroft said warmly, much to John and Sherlock's surprise.

"That would be perfect, I have that evening off. I could pick you up around 8?"Greg said, trying very hard not to look at the disgusted face Sherlock was giving them both.

"That will be fine. Goodbye Gregory." Mycroft said formally, holding out his hand to shake.

"G'bye Mike." Was Greg's reply. He ignored Mycroft's hand, and instead gave the confused man a quick one armed hug. Flashing the man a parting smile, Greg took off merrily down the street. Mycroft stood there a moment, faintly pink, as if trying to process how anyone could ignore a handshake from the British government. Sherlock on the other hand, was wide eyed and disgusted. He kept looking from John to his older brother as if waiting for someone to explain why anyone would want physical contact with the elder Holmes. John found the whole scenario amusing, but upon being nearly blown over by a particularly strong gust of frigged wind, spoke up to get the brothers attention. "Well, it's quite cold. Could we go?"

"Yes, of course." Mycroft said, opening the door to the car. "As you know I have to pass Baker Street to get to my office, so if you don't mind I will ride with you. Anthea has sent the other car off for maintenance and the boot of this car is full of... ah... paperwork. As I am sure you can see, the passenger seat if full of food, so I'm afraid we will all be riding in the back."

"_Oh no. I can't see this ending well_." John thought, but decided that there wasn't really time to argue given that the wind was picking up, the threat of another snow storm growing. To make the situation a bit easier, John had insisted that Sherlock get in first so that he could sit between the two brothers.

Before getting in, Mycroft put John's crutches in the boot with the classified items that they were not supposed to know about. Mycroft had then entered the car, keeping away from John so that he did not bump into his injured foot, and immediately got out his phone to check e-mails. That is how John had ended up where he is now, wedged between two men in the back of a car.

John had been worried that the clothing incident would make such close contact uncomfortable, but any awkwardness had been driven from his mind as soon as the car had started. John struggled ignore the pain that kept shooting through his ankle as it was continually jarred by the car, and the headache that throbbed near the stitched up gash. He was able to feel the heat from Sherlock's body, and this is what he focused on to keep the pain from overwhelming him.

Sherlock was looking out the window, and John took advantage of the opportunity to study the taller man's face. He noted how his forehead was wrinkled in concentration, but his hypnotic eyes were distant, as though not really seeing the view whizzing by the window. The car stopped suddenly a second time as a car ran the red light ahead of them, and it took all John's will power not to cry out in pain. Both brothers looked up, Mycroft to give the driver instructions to pull over and Sherlock to check on John. John looked at Sherlock's concerned face and nodded to tell him that he was fine.

"It would appear that I have some business to tend to. Goodbye John. Sherlock, I need to speak with you a moment." Mycroft said nonchalantly as he got out of the car. Instead of refusing to go out in the cold, Sherlock only nodded and stepped out of the car. John missed his reassuring warmth, but was relieved that the car had stopped moving. The Holmes brothers were standing behind the car, and John watched them through the rear view mirror.

They were speaking in low voices, the wind blowing their words away making it where John couldn't hear. It would appear that Mycroft was attempting to tell Sherlock something, but the younger Holmes didn't want to listen to him. If their expressions and hand gestures were anything to go by, it looked like Sherlock was getting angry given how Mycroft had stopped talking and John could now hear bits of what Sherlock was saying.

"... none of your concern... John and I... handle it myself..."

"_They are talking about me? What could I possibly have done that Sherlock now thinks he has to deal with?" J_ohn wondered, puzzled. Sherlock seemed to realize how loud he had gotten and lowered his voice. Mycroft looked as though he wanted to pursue the issue, but their argument was broken by the sound squealing tires and the car that had almost hit them race around the corner. John turned to see Mycroft open the boot and remove a briefcase before disappearing as a crowd of teenagers walked by in a hurry to get somewhere warm. Whomever was in the car saw Mycroft disappear and they drove off, presumably to try a different tactic.

"Security plans for Buckingham palace." Sherlock said as he got back into the car, before John had asked. Unperturbed by the direct threat to his brothers safety, he gave the driver instructions to continue to Baker St. John turned in his seat to discuss what the conversation had actually been about, but the troubled look on the taller man's face made it obvious that now was not the time.

John studied him discreetly as the car jostled along, and he realized that if you looked pas the sociopathic mask Sherlock wore, he looked sad. John realized that whatever was bothering his closest friend must be important. John sat in the silent car, his pain driven away by one persistent thought. "_What have I done to hurt Sherlock_?"

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**Thank you so much for reading! Please comment and favorite so that you can be notified as soon as the next chapter comes out. Maybe your coment will end up shaping the next chapter. Also, as I have been rereading the previous chapters I have been fixing grammar and flow. I'm sorry if they appear as new chapters in your alerts. Unless it says Cp8, it is a false alarm. :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hello! I can't believe I actually met my self imposed deadline. As penance for the extremely lengthy gap last time, this is the longest chapter yet. One small thing about this chapter, I must issue a warning.**

**TRIGGER WARNING: RAPE**

**Yep. I know it's a touchy subject, but it was necessary for backstory. I will have the next chapter out no later than the 14th, but hopefully sooner. Please point out any spelling/grammar errors, I do not have a beta reader. If anyone would like the position, I would be exceedingly grateful and will return the favor. As I am sure you all know, I did not invent the characters and all credit goes to BBC and Doyle.**

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Chapter 8

John was still trying to figure out what was wrong with Sherlock when the car stopped.

"Wait here, I'll get your crutches." Sherlock said as he hopped out into the frigged wind. John was perfectly happy to sit in the warm car, and he watched Sherlock through the rear view mirror.

"_It looks like we will need to have a discussion when we're alone._" John though. "_Whatever is wrong, I need to fix it_." Sherlock opened the door and silently handed John the crutches. The wind nearly blew him over, and it had started to snow again. The ground was icy underneath the snow, and John noticed how Sherlock followed close behind him, just in case he fell.

"Mrs. Hudson is still at her sisters. She won't be back for a few days." Sherlock said as they stepped into the entrance of 221 Baker Street. John just nodded, eying the steep stairs apprehensively. Sherlock seemed to realize how difficult they would be the same time John did. "I'll help you up." The consulting detective said, turning to his sidekick.

"I've got it." John replied. He didn't want to be trapped in the flat, and he knew that his ability to maneuver the stairs would be the deciding factor in if he could go out. Sherlock, trusting the doctors' judgment, went outside to provide the driver instructions on what to do with the groceries.

"I can do this." John told himself as he hobbled to the stairs. Standing at the bottom looking up, it felt as though he was bracing himself to climb Everest. At first, John tried to climb them the usual way. Placing both crutches on the first step, he pushed himself off with his good foot in an attempt to swing himself up. This did not work at all, and John came crashing down to the floor. "Bloody crutches!" John muttered in frustration. The cumbersome tools were being more hindrance than help. Abandoning them in the floor, John tried scooting himself up the stairs on his bum. This one would have worked if Sherlock hadn't come in just then.

"You do realize I was coming back to help you." The taller man said as he rolled his eyes.

John ignored this comment. "I can do it on my own." He said, scooting himself up another step. Sherlock did not even bother with a response, instead choosing to act. "_Oh God, what the hell is he doing?_" John wondered. Sherlock had leaned down, and was holding John as if hugging him. "Why is he hugging me so tight? Why is he hugging me at all?! It's nice, but confusing." John thought, trying hard to ignore the urge to lean closer to Sherlock for more of the shampoo smell.

"You could help." Sherlock said, turning his face to look a John. The blond man turned scarlet as he realized that this was not a hug, but an attempt to help him stand without crutches. John hurried to help, standing up on his good leg. Moving to John's injured side, Sherlock left his arm around John's waist and nudged John so that he would put his arm around his shoulders.

"_This is embarrassing._" John thought as they hobbled up the stairs as though they were in a three legged race. John was surprised at how patient the consulting detective was being. Moving slowly up every step, he never showed any irritation at having to help.

Although it took almost ten minutes, they finally made it up the first flight of stairs. Johns head was throbbing, and his ankle hurt from the effort that the stairs had took. "Fantastic, more stairs." John said sarcastically to Sherlock as he turned to start up the steps to his room. Sherlock apparently had other plans.

"You are not sleeping up there, I already moved your stuff." He said as though rummaging through someone else's belongings was a perfectly natural thing to do.

"_Well, for Sherlock it is normal_." John mused. "I know you mean well, but I can't sleep on the couch. It hurts my back." He said nicely, knowing that his friend was trying.

"I know that." Sherlock said with another eye roll. "I have moved some of your things to my room."

It took John a moment to process this information. _"What the hell is he thinking? Surely he knows what a terrible idea this is!"_ Deciding that maybe Sherlock just hadn't thought this through, John tried to act as though the suggestion was completely normal. "Um, that's really nice of you Sherlock, but I hate to impose. Where will you sleep?"

Sherlock once again proved John wrong. He had obviously given this a lot of thought. "As you know, I do not sleep much. I would be in and out of bed without you waking, if you're concerned that I would keep you up. You sleep an hour off army time, from eleven to six, unless we are on a case. If I sleep, which I usually don't given what a waste of time it is, I sleep from one to four. As you can see there is plenty of overlap so that it wouldn't disturb your sleep schedule." The detective rattled off, obviously proud of the solution he had come up with.

John was not as pleased with the situation. "_He is absolutely mental_." John thought. "_This is a tricky situation he has put me in. If I outright refuse to share a bed with him, he will think I'm angry with him. If I agree, it's going to be awkward_."

John had been standing there motionless for almost a minute, deep in contemplation. "Or, if it's a problem, I could sleep on the couch." Sherlock said, breaking the silence.

John saw that he had to make a decision now, before it became a bigger issue. "No! I mean, I'm perfectly happy to sleep with you."

The taller man gave him an odd, appraising look. Realizing how his previous comment sounded, especially with the consulting detective still holding him up by his waist. John stammered to try and rephrase. "I mean, we can sleep together. Shit. BLOODY SHARE A BED!"

Sherlock was now the one looking a bit apprehensive. "It's quite alright, I'll just sleep on the couch."

"No, it's really fine." John insisted, the pain in his head growing worse the longer he stood there. Sherlock, realizing the pain his friend was in, just nodded and helped him through the front door. The slow shuffle to Sherlock's room felt to John like it took hours. His head was spinning from the pain and his foot felt as though someone was stabbing him every time it moved. John was relieved to finally sit down on Sherlock's bed, although the action made him feel as though he had just got off a tilt-a-whirl. Seeing how pale and clammy the blond man had become, Sherlock bent down and removed his shoes for him while John removed his coat. As soon as Sherlock went to put them away John fell asleep, surrounded by the smell of Sherlock that was infused in the sheets and not caring that he was in his flat mate's bed.

**The game was on. John was crouched low, watching the entrance to the old abandoned factory. The wind was cold, blowing John's hair to and fro as he hid behind some empty crates that were stacked by the large industrial doors. John knew time was of the essence, but he waited until the guard walked around the corner before he made a move. Using his military training John pistol whipped the armed guard, dropping him without a sound. The early morning silence was cut with a piercing scream from inside. Knowing that he had to get to Sherlock, John quickly sneaked into the building. **

**The air was dusty and cold, with light filtering in through the high grimy windows and rusted through roof. The factory was completely empty apart from the group gathered in the center of the floor. Four burly men were sitting at a table, one of them holding a bloody knife. John's heart sunk, desperately hoping that the blood didn't belong to his Sherlock. **

**"We got 'em tied up in a room upstairs, but 'e sure put up a fight." One of the men said with a southern American accent, looking over at a shadowy figure that had just walked in.**

**"Good job boys, I knew you could do it." Said the person who wouldn't step into the light. With his strange singsong voice, the man continued what appeared to be a meeting. "It won't be long until his brother shows up, then ding-dong the ice king is gone!" He finished with a manic laugh.**

**Hearing enough, John decided to pit and end to whatever this psycho had planned. He raised his gun, and without a second thought put a bullet through the head of the leader. At the sound of a gun, the four men at the table pulled out their guns and started firing at random, obviously not trained to aim properly. John, who was running toward them, easily hit his mark and dropped them all one by one. Now that the immediate danger was gone, he had to find Sherlock. "Sherlock, SHERLOCK!" John yelled as he sprinted through the factory, looking for some indication as to where the men had taken him. It was suddenly warm as John stepped into a long hallway, and he could hear his name coming from a room at the end. Taking off again, the shorter man raced into the room to find Sherlock tightly bound to a chair. **

**"John!" Sherlock cried, turning to look at his rescuer. John was relieved to see that Sherlock appeared to be perfectly fine, and without a word cut through the knot in the back of the chair with his pocket knife. After freeing his friend, John took the taller man's hands and pulled him to his feet. **

**"John, you saved me." The detective said, looking into John's clear blue eyes with grateful adoration. Before he could say another word, John leaned forward on his tip-toes and kissed him. Slow and sweet soon turned to hot and passionate. John was kissing Sherlock as though he couldn't get enough, and Sherlock was responding with as much enthusiasm. Grabbing John at his hips, Sherlock twisted them around so that John was pinned to the wall. John could feel every inch of Sherlock's body pressed against his, and he reached down to-**

John was woken by a particularly loud note on the violin. He groaned, part out of irritation that the dream had happened and part out of disappointment that it had ended. "_This is why sharing a bed won't work_." John thought as he sat up. The blanket fell away from him, and he realized that Sherlock must have come in at some point and covered him up. The thought of Sherlock caring enough about his comfort to tuck him in made John smile. Sherlock was playing a song full of joy and loss that, mixed with Sherlock's minty shampoo in an empty bed, made John feel quite lonely. John thought back on the dream, sure he had dreamed about being on a case in the past, but they had never ended like _that_ before! "_Okay, so maybe a little gay_." John admitted to himself.

The army doctor was rattled. He had known he had felt something a deeper than just friendship for the detective, but before he had been able to reason himself out of admitting it was anything other than a passing phase. He had never dreamed about any of his girlfriends, ever. When he was younger the females in his dreams were all faceless figures, and after the war he only had nightmares. It wasn't until he met Sherlock that he had begun having decent dreams again, and these dreams were almost always about him and Sherlock working a case. Now his subconscious was admitting defeat.

"_Great, I'm in love with a sociopath_." John thought, dumbfounded. He realized that the problem would now be how to hide this realization from Sherlock. Between this new issue and the strange way Sherlock had been acting in the cab, John desperately needed someone to talk to about this. Unfortunately there wasn't anyone else in the flat, and John knew he couldn't call Greg to chat without Sherlock hearing. As if knowing that this was a terrible to interrupt, Sherlock knocked on the bedroom door.

"Come in." John said, not having much choice.

Sherlock stepped into the room, looking calmer than he had earlier. John was relived, but he could still see that something was not quite right.

"Are you feeling alright?" Sherlock asked as he stood stiffly, unsure if he was supposed to sit on the bed or if that would be rude. John nodded and scooted over so that Sherlock would take a hint and sit down, his behavior was making John nervous.

"_If he deduces this, there is no way I could fix it._" John worried as he tried to think of something to talk about. "Um, the song you were playing was nice. I haven't heard it before, what's it called?" John asked, grasping for any kind of conversation.

Sherlock, who had been staring out the window deep in thought, turned to John as though he had forgotten he was there. "Oh, I haven't named it." He said with a shrug.

John was surprised. Usually when Sherlock composed, it was to sort out whatever was going on in that brilliant head of his. This song had been so full of emotion, so mournful, that it worried John. He understood that not everyone wanted to share their past, but the last thing John wanted was for his friend to relapse or sink into a post New Year depression. John knew that they had to talk about it, and now.

"Sherlock, is something wrong?" John asked gently, trying not to sound overly distressed. The last thing he needed was for Sherlock to become defensive.

The brunet seemed to be caught off guard, as if he hadn't expected John to notice. He didn't speak immediately, instead he resumed his staring out the window. John knew that it wouldn't do any good to rush him so they just sat there together on the bed, comfortable with each other's silence in the warm bedroom. After a while, Sherlock turned back to John.

"Yes, something is wrong. John, I - "

_Knock Knock Knock_ went the front door, interrupting Sherlock. The detective jumped up immediately, and hurried out of the room without a second glance.

"_At least I know he's willing to talk about it_." John thought as he listened to hear who was at the door. He could barely hear the muffled voices downstairs, but it didn't take long for John do deduce who must be at the door.

"Sherlock, take the case." He called out, causing the voices to stop immediately. He heard Lestrade laugh before making his way back to the bedroom.

"You're getting almost as good as he is." Greg remarked with a chucked as he entered the room with Sherlock right behind him, giving the DI a reproachful glare.

"Thanks, but no one can be that good." John countered, soothing his flat mate's ego.

"As I was saying," Sherlock said loudly looking irritated. "I will not take cases until John is better. He shouldn't be alone, particularly so soon after head trauma."

"But it's a locked room murder where there isn't any evidence!" Lestrade said with exasperation. "You know that without at least a little help, we won't find the murderer."

John jumped in. "He is right, it does sound like they need your help."

Sherlock refused, as stubborn as ever. "Whether they need help or not is irrelevant to the fact that you shouldn't be left alone."

Lestrade finally caved. "Fine, I'll call my superior and tell them that I won't be back until later. I'll stay with John until you're done investigating the crime scene."

Sherlock looked as though he was about to refuse, so John intervened. "That's a great idea Greg. Sherlock, if you want to you could just pick up dinner while you're out."

Seeing that this was the most logical course of action, Sherlock consented. He didn't say anything until the DI had stepped out of the room to make his phone call. "John, are you sure you'll be alright?" He asked, searching the older man's eyes for any evidence to the contrary.

John liked the new level of concern he was getting from his flat mate, but it was becoming a bit wearing. "Yes Sherlock, I am a doctor you know." John said with a sigh. Sherlock's piercing gaze was still locked onto John and he found that the longer Sherlock stared, the warmer the room seemed to be.

"Alright, it's settled. Take the cab that's still waiting downstairs, I'll stay here." Lestrade said as he entered the room again. Sherlock nodded, then turned back to John. He stood there a moment, as if he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. Giving up, he just gave John a look and left without another word. The expression had been so similar to the one in the cab, making the detective look forlorn and, if John didn't know better, lonely.

Lestrade, who had watched this event unfold, went and retrieved a kitchen chair to sit on before asking about it. "So, that was new." He said as he looked to John for an answer.

"I have no idea. Things have been getting weird between us, and after a conversation with Mycroft earlier this has started. I don't know what Mycroft said, but whatever it was it has made Sherlock unhappy and I have a bad feeling it involves me." He said.

Lestrade thought for a minute before replying. "I can't think of anything either unless they are having some family issues. I'll have to ask Mike the next time he stops by."

"Speaking of Mycroft. What's going on between you two?" John asked with a grin.

Lestrade collected his thoughts before answering. "We are friends, and due to what I hope is mutual interest in something more, we are going on a date Thursday." He said without the slightest bit of embarrassment.

This answer surprised John. He had expected his friend to dance around the issue, but instead he had just admitted that he was dating a man. It wasn't the two men dating bit that confused him, it was his openness about it.

John remembered when his sister came out, and how much trouble it caused. How his parents didn't know, John couldn't guess. Between her lack of boyfriends and the rumors that had flown around the small town where they had grown up, it had been obvious to anyone who looked. The night she had told their parents had been a terrible one.

John had been eighteen that summer and was preparing to go to university, his sister was living at home and attending a local college where she studied literature. It was very late when Harry's girlfriend Anna had called him, sobbing. "I, I found her behind the school. Oh John she's bleeding and won't wake up, you need to come now and bring her some clothes!"

John leaped to the rescue, not knowing what condition he would find his sister in. When he got there, she had woken up and Anna had put a blanket over her. He instantly knew what had happened.

"It was Charlie and his friends wasn't it?" He asked, trying to control his rage. Harry looked lost, and only nodded a bit to confirm John's suspicions. He took some steading breaths to keep from crying or screaming or hunting down Charlie and putting a bullet in his scull. Charlie was known by all the adults to be a good kid, with a good head on his shoulders and ambition. To everyone that didn't worship him, he was a cocky arse hole with anger issues. Charlie's untarnished reputation was kept clean by his father, who just so happened to be the pastor of their small and very religious town. Whatever the pastor said everyone believed, and John knew that if the pastor said his son didn't do it than Harry would always be known as the whore who tried to soil the pastor's son. This is why Anna hadn't just taken her to the hospital, they would have had her tested for rape.

John helped his beaten sister struggle into the clean clothes he had brought. He could see the finger shaped bruised on her wrists and neck, and scattered randomly across her body were wide bruises as though one of Charlie's friends had been carrying a cricket bat.

The blood Anna had been referring to was coming from a gash that sliced a raged path almost six inches long from the back of her head to her hairline. John applied pressure to the wound, and with Anna's help he got her into his car. Harry was lucky that their parents were away for the weekend and with John's help she began healing psychically, although mentally was another story. When their parent's returned, all hell broke loose. Their concern for her injuries was drowned out with anger when Harry told them why she had been the chosen victim, although she left Charlie's name out of it. Their parents were enraged, telling her that the life of sin had chosen is what caused this to happen and that she deserved all of it.

John, refusing to let Harry suffer the verbal abuse, had just taken her hand without a word and pulled her out to his car where he had already put their packed bags encase this happened. John had left their parents for good, and although he didn't know it at the time, it was the last time he would ever speak to his parents again.

John had seen firsthand how damaging coming out could be, and now that he was questioning his own sexuality he wasn't sure if the freedom was worth the pain. "Greg, can I ask you a personal question" John asked quietly, and waited for him to nod before he continued. "How did you know you were gay? You've been married and have a daughter, everyone thinks you're straight. Aren't you afraid of how your family and friends will react?"

Lestrade answered immediately, apparently having already asked himself these same questions. "If someone really cares for me, they won't care who I'm dating. True friends won't leave, and I didn't need the fake ones anyway. As for the first question, I don't consider myself gay. I'm just attracted to whomever I'm attracted to, and right now it's Mike." John sat there in silence, trying to process this information. Lestrade seemed to realize something was up. "It's alright to fall somewhere in between John." The DI assured him kindly.

John decided that he was tired of hiding. He trusted Greg, and knew that he was one of the true friends he had mentioned. "I have been having feelings for, um, someone male. I have no idea what to do." John said, blushing a bit.

Lestrade grinned. "See, doesn't that feel better? Now all you have to do is tell Sherlock about these "feelings" and you'll be good to go!"

"I never said they were for bloody Sherlock Holmes!" John replied indignantly when Greg began to laugh.

"But you still haven't said they weren't." the DI answered, still chuckling.

John sighed, but was relived at how well his friend was taking it. "Fine, I have feelings for Sherlock." He said, and to his surprise if felt like a weight was lifted off his chest. "What do I do now? There is no way that he feels the same way."

Lestrade just looked at him. "What do you mean? Whether he recognizes it or not, there is something there. You should have seen him before he met you, or even just when you're not around. He is so much, well, nicer when you're there. He needs you, the same way you probably need him. John, you have to tell Sherlock. It may be difficult at first, but if you don't this secret will wear away at your friendship until it breaks." He said wisely.

John knew that Lestrade was right. There was no way to move forward without talking about it with Sherlock, and if he ignored it then he may be missing out on something spectacular.

"I'll make us some tea." Greg said, seeing that John needed some time alone to process this new information. He had only just left the room when his phone rang. He answered, and John could hear him growing frustrated with whomever was on the other end. They were arguing, but Greg lost the quarrel quickly.

"Sherlock is going to kill me for this, but I have to go." Lestrade said as he came back into the room, stress evident on his face. "There's a hostage situation at Smithing's jewelry, so I really can't stay."

"Like I told Sherlock, I'm fine. I'm sure he'll be back soon anyway." John said. Not having any choice, Lestrade said goodbye and raced out the door.

The flat was eerily silent, punctuating the fact that John was all alone. John could hear every creak of the walls as the house shifted in the cold wind. Knowing he couldn't just sit in bed alone waiting for Sherlock to come back, John decided to take a shower. "_If I'm going to tell Sherlock about whatever these feelings are, I would rather do it before he sees me nude_." John thought as he struggled to get out of bed.

His ankle hurt, but it was bearable so he stood up on the icy floor. It was only after he was standing that he realized his crutches were still downstairs. Holding on to the wall, John inched his way to the bathroom. It took a lot more energy than he had been expecting, so John sat down on the edge of the tub to undress. Removing his shirt and sweater was alright despite the cracked rib, but the jeans proved to be a problem once again. "Bloody trousers!" John said with irritation as he gave up and cut them off.

He sat there a moment, pondering how he could shower without getting his cast wet. Coming up with a plan, John wrapped himself in a towel and hobbled to the kitchen, where he retrieved a garbage bag and duct tape. By the time he made it back to the bathroom on his injured leg, he was tired again. Ignoring his fatigue, John put the bag over his foot and taped it firmly to his leg before getting into the steamy shower.

The hot water brought instant release to his aching muscles, causing John to moan. He washed himself quickly knowing that his flat mate would be returning soon. John knew that the super sleuth would deduce what was going on, so John decided that they had to have their conversation as soon as he got home. The thought gave him butterflies, but at least the torture would be over.

John was so lost in thought that he didn't overhear Sherlock entering 221 Baker Street. He had only just cut off the water when he heard Sherlock enter the flat, startling him. Knowing Sherlock's habit of just barging in, John whipped around to grab his towel. The wet garbage bag over his leg was slick, causing John to stumble. He latched on to the shower curtain to try and catch himself, but the curtain rod refused to support his weight. John fell hard out of the tub, hitting the cold tile floor

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**Thank you so much for reading! Please follow so that you can be notified as soon as the next chapter comes out, and comment because I like knowing real people are reading this and not robots. I am thinking about writing a one shot for Halloween in addition to regular updates to this, so if you have any suggestions I'd love to hear them. Fyi, it may or may not be a Supernatural crossover! :D**


	9. Chapter 9

**Guess what I've got for you... another trigger warning!**

_**TRIGGER WARNING: SUICIDE and DRUG USE**_

**Yep. I'm not sure how the story ended up like this. I swear I was planning on a three chapter fluff story. Why not as graphic as last chapters trigger, I thought it was better safe than sorry and decided to add a warning to this one. Just in case you forgot, I do not own these characters. Mainly because BBC and Doyle won't give them to me.**

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Chapter 9

"John, are you alright?!" Sherlock said as he barged into the humid bathroom. He looked like an angelic savior, silhouetted in the doorway with steam curling around him. John was tangled up in the blue shower curtain, grateful for the small bit of modesty it provided.

"Yes, I'm fine." The shorter man replied as he tried to stand up while staying covered by the thin curtain. Sherlock, seeing John struggle, stepped into the room to assist him.

"While a decent idea, the trash bag is why you can't stand up." The brunet said, knelling down next to John. John didn't know what to do with Sherlock so near. Usually a modest man, he hadn't been naked around another man since he was in Afghanistan. He could feel himself heating up under the detective's gaze, butterflies in his stomach.

"BLOODY HELL! Sherlock, you git. That hurt!" He cried out as his friend suddenly reached down and ripped off the duct tape, leaving a funny bald stripe on his leg.

Sherlock shot him a look. "I'm not the one who put it there in the first place." He replied shortly. Sherlock was right about the bag, and after it was removed John was able to stand. He was keenly aware of his nudity, although Sherlock seemed to have not noticed due to his rising anger. Neither of them spoke as Sherlock tried to help John back to the bedroom. One arm clutching Sherlock, the other holding the curtain around him he shuffled along, dripping on the floor. The taller man seemed to come out of his angry haze to notice the mess they were making. Glancing at the soaked floor he retreated to the bathroom, returning with a towel. They both stood there a moment, John not sure what to say and Sherlock not realizing that he should turn around.

"_Well. In for a penny, in for a pound."_ John thought, seeing that he would have to be the first to do something about the curtain. John took a steading breath and grasped the towel before dropping the curtain. Despite it having been only the briefest amount of exposure as John switched to the towel, both men turned red and avoided eye contact.

John was relieved to finally be done with the ordeal as he sat on the bed. "Here, I got these for you so we wouldn't have to attempt to put your trousers on again." Sherlock said after retrieving a bag from the front hall, and John opened it to find several pairs of sweatpants in his size. John thanked him, and this time Sherlock realized that was his cue to leave.

"_Well, that did not go like I wanted it to and now he's angry."_ John thought as he got dressed. John knew he had to talk about what was going on to Sherlock, but the thought of it was making him feel sick. Doubts raced through his mind. "_What if this ruins our friendship? What if he doesn't want me to stay here if I'm kind of gay? Am I gay? Is he gay? What if he is but just isn't interested in me? What if he is interested in me? Do I really want to try and have a relationship with Sherlock Holmes?_"All too soon John was dressed, and he took a calming breath before leaving the room.

To his surprise, John found his crutches leaning against the wall outside the door, and using them the hobbled down the hall to the living room. The living room was mostly dark apart from the warm glow coming from the fireplace. Sherlock was laying on the couch again his fingers steepled under his chin, mostly in shadow apart from the sharp lines the fire illuminated. "_Probably filing away the information from this case."_ John assumed as he made his way over to his chair. Supposedly to avoid being bothered, the detective had laid out John's medicine along with his takeout on the side table.

John ate his chicken alfredo in silence, alternating between looking out the window at the snow and watching his flat mate. John couldn't help but notice the consulting detective's flawlessly shaped cupid bow lips, or how perfectly sculpted his cheek bones are. John was just finishing his food when Sherlock's eyes shot open, staring deeply into John's which had been studying him. John could feel the energy from his friend's eyes as they locked on to his.

"Why did Lestrade leave?" Sherlock asked, looking heated again as he stood up and started pacing. John watched his slender body go back and forth for a moment before replying.

"Well, there was a hostage situation at the jewelry store a few streets over and they needed him." John answered, knowing that Sherlock had probably already deduced the situation.

"Yes, the other officers mentioned it while I was looking at the body." Sherlock said, now standing in front of John. "What I do not understand, is why he left you. I told him not to leave you alone."

John sighed, seeing that this conversation probably wouldn't end well for Greg. "I'm not a child Sherlock, I can handle myself."

"Obviously, seeing as I just had to help you off the bathroom floor." Sherlock said with scorn as he resumed his pacing.

The idea that Sherlock thought he was irresponsible irritated John. "I'm sorry you had to help me out of the bathroom. It won't happen again." John said without trying to hide his annoyance.

"What? No, it was... fine." Sherlock said, surprised that John would think that way. The taller man studied John for a moment before continuing. "Ah, you didn't want me to have to help you into the shower." He deduced, searching John's face for evidence he was right. John tried to contradict him, but they both knew it was the truth. "There are only four plausible reasons you wouldn't want my help." Sherlock said as he latched on to this new puzzle.

John groaned and said. "Please not now Sherlock." But what he was thinking was. "_For the love of God please get it wrong for once."_

"The first reason." Sherlock said as he resumed his pacing. "Is that you dislike accepting help. While true, you seemed to have resigned yourself to the fact that it would be necessary, and as a doctor you knew that showering alone would be difficult. These facts lower the chances of that being your motive considerably. The second possibility is that you are too modest to be seen in a state of undress. Given your medical training and tour in the military it is unlikely. You've seen enough bodies that nudity is not foreign to you."

"I did not spend my days in Afghanistan staring a naked bodies!" John interjected, earning him a look from Sherlock that clearly said not to interrupt his deduction.

"Third is that you just do not want me in particular to see you nude." Sherlock continued, and it took all John's will power to keep his poker face on. Sherlock seemed to realize his deductions were getting closer to the truth, and he pushed on ruthlessly. "While this one is probable, I cannot figure out why. As your flat mate I have seen you undressed before, although given the way you shouted at me I do not think you were okay with it."

"No I wasn't." John said firmly. "That's why we had to have a discussion on knocking."

"Fine, but that still leaves the fourth option." Sherlock concluded as he stopped his attempt to wear a hole in the floor.

He was standing directly in front of John, and John could see how sincere the detective was trying to be. _"Great" _John thought with exasperated sarcasm. _"Now I get the "I'm married to my work but thanks for trying" speech."_

"Forth is that you are self-conscious about me seeing you undressed because of you age." Sherlock said seriously.

It took John a moment to process this. "Because of my age? Sherlock you git I'm not old, or at least not much older than you!"

Sherlock looked puzzled for a moment. "No John, I mean that you may be self-conscious given that you have changed a bit from your army days which was the last time someone you were not in a relationship with saw you shower. Rest assured you look perfectly fine for your age, some would even say attractive. The exercise you get from cases has kept you in fairly good shape."

Now John was confused, and more than a bit irritated. "So, you're saying that I would feel bad about the way I look because I'm no longer young? I hadn't thought I had gotten that flabby."

At John's biting tone Sherlock seemed to realize how terribly he had been wording his deduction. "What? No, that's not what I meant at all!" The brunet said, growing flustered. "Your appearance is above average for your age." John's brow remained furrowed and Sherlock groaned in frustration, running his hands through his hair. "John, you are very attractive, I was just trying to say you may not have realized it. You are not flabby in the slightest, and taking in to account your beautiful eyes and generally charming demeanor you would even be considered handsome."

Sherlock now had his hands on the armrests of the chair John was sitting in. John's mind was going a mile a minute. _"Did he just call me handsome? At the very least he said I'm very attractive. Mmm, shampoo again. He's so close, his hands are almost on mine. Is he saying that he finds me attractive or just that other people do?"_ Instead of asking any of these perfectly reasonable questions, the best John's stunned mind could come up with was, "Wha... you... you think I have beautiful eyes?"

Sherlock froze, replaying everything he had just said. It would appear that he hadn't meant to include that in his explanation. "Um, yes. They are a nice blue." He said, reigning in his composure and sitting opposite John in his chair.

"Well, um, thanks. Yours are nice too. A funny colour, it suits you." John said with a slight blush. To his surprise Sherlock also appeared embarrassed by the complement, and he only nodded.

They sat there in silence for a few minutes, neither one knowing what to say. John was the first to break the silence. "We'll, this has been an eventful day. I'm getting a drink, would you like one?" He asked as he struggled to lift himself out of the chair without putting weight on his ankle or twisting his cracked rib.

"Sit down. You're likely to hurt yourself again given how accident prone you are. I'll get it." Sherlock said, rolling his eyes and standing up.

John chuckled, revealed that the tension that had been building was gone. "Funny enough, excluding Afghanistan I never got hurt this much until I meet you."

Sherlock's face clouded over, but he left the room before John could say anything else. _"Great, I've scared him off. What did I say this time?"_ John thought as he waited on his flat mate to bring back drinks. John could hear Sherlock clattering around in the kitchen, and he could virtually see the taller man rummaging through the bottom cabinet looking for the liquor. _"So Sherlock thinks I have beautiful eyes, that's new. Is that a normal friend thing to notice? I don't think so, but you never know with Sherlock. It's probably just another thing he's picked up on when he's deduced me at some point."_ John mused as he waited patiently.

John caught the soft tinkle of ice hitting the glasses as Sherlock entered the room holding two drinks. John realized how odd it was for Sherlock to be drinking, but he just shrugged it off as the result of a very strange day. Sherlock plopped down on the floor in front of his chair and set the bottle he had brought with him to the side. He was clad in the purple shirt John was so fond of, and his long legs stretched out leisurely in front of him. He still looked troubled, and John couldn't figure out why. Although it was a few minutes later, Sherlock was the one to disrupt the silence. "I'm sorry." He said quietly, looking into his glass. John was very confused, and Sherlock could read it on his face. "I am sorry you were injured, are perpetually getting injured, all because of me. I try to avoid it, keeping you away from the worst cases, not letting you rush into danger, but it's still you who gets hurt."

"Sherlock, it's alright. I wouldn't go with you if I didn't want to. You don't have to protect me." John said, smiling at the idea of Sherlock thinking about his safety.

Sherlock looked up, his eyes pleading for John to understand. "It's not alright John! If something happened to you because of me, I couldn't live with myself."

John ignored the pain in his ribs as he slid down off his chair to sit with his friend. Sherlock tucked in his legs so that the blond man could have room. They were now sitting with their knees almost touching on the floor together. John placed a firm and reassuring hand on his flat mate's shoulder. "Sherlock, I love working cases with you. I know the risk and it is worth it to be able to run around London with you."

After a gentle squeeze, John sat back. The silence was comfortable this time both men lost in thought, the fire crackling softly as it gave off a calming warmth. After a while John grew bored of the silence. "Let's play a game." He suggested as he poured himself a second drink.

Sherlock looked irritated to have been summoned from his mind palace. "Only if it's a better game than the one your sister and Molly came up with."

"What was so bad about their game? It's not as though Mrs. Hudson was expecting a proper snog." John said with a giggle, the contents of his drinks making him feel bubbly and warm.

Sherlock shot him a dirty look. "No, but you apparently were given the way you were going at it with my brother." He said flatly.

"Oh! To be honest I did ask Mycroft if he thought this may be an issue. He said that because we aren't dating, you would be fine with it. And to clarify, I was not expecting him to kiss me like that. It was very… strange, and if you had actually been paying attention you would have seen it was mostly one sided." John said, shuddering as he remembered what it felt like to kiss the elder Holmes.

Sherlock, who had been watching John carefully, seemed pleased by John's answer. "Fine, what is the game then?" He asked with an exaggerated sigh.

"How about truth or dare?" John suggested after a moment.

The taller man graced him with an eye roll. "Honestly John, how many dares could you possibly do given your injuries? There is just the two of us in the flat and there is very little we haven't done, so any dare would have to be dangerous or boring."

John had almost forgotten his injuries in the darken living room. "Fine, truth or shot then. We take turns asking questions and the other person has to tell the truth or take a shot."

Sherlock thought about it before answering. "That is suitable, as long as neither of us pass three shots. You're an invalid and I need to be able to take care of you. You may ask first."

John took forever to come up with a question. "Um... let's see. What's your favorite flavour of ice cream?"

The eye roll sigh combo that followed looked physically painful. "John, I can feel my brain meting from how dull that question is. You have got to come up with something better than that, think of something you wouldn't normally ask."

John took this as a green light for more personal questions, and he instantly knew what he wanted to ask. "Fine, why are you always so peculiar around New Years? We both remember last year, and Greg says you used to just disappear to avoid it."

Sherlock froze, staring into the fire and John thought he must have crossed a line with his question. They had never really talked about their pasts, John knew Sherlock could deduce his and he knew his flat mate preferred to avoid conversations that had to potential to get emotional. Sherlock finally turned from the fire to look at John. John could read the question in his friends eyes, honest and wanting to know how far their connection would reach. "Sherlock, you can always trust me."

The taller man took a sip of his drink before he began to talk. "As you know, Mycroft is my older brother. What you do not know is that I have, had, another brother. His name was Sherrinford, and he was the eldest." Sherlock paused to see how John was reacting to the news. He wanted to give his condolences, but John knew Sherlock would not find the words comforting. To avoid breaking the spell that the fire and liquor had them under, John just nodded for Sherlock to continue. "You are already aware of my drug habit, but it didn't used to be under control. During Uni, I fell in with a bad crowd and they were the ones who got me started on it. I had been able to keep my habit in check until my last year, when I accidentally overdosed in a drug den New Years Eve. When the person I was there with realized I wasn't going to wake up, he called Mycroft. Unlike you, he must have taken his bribe to spy on me. Mycroft was out of the country at the time, so he called Sherrinford to go get me. He was always taking care of us and of others, that's probably why he became police chief. The idiot who called Mycroft was high enough that he didn't think to tell the guys who guard the doors that someone was coming. Naturally, the first thing they did when an officer burst into the building was to start shooting. Sherrinford didn't have a chance. The next time I overdosed, it was intentional. After a stint in a padded cell, Mycroft made a list of three rules I must follow. The first is that he babysits me every time the holiday comes around. The second is that I never try to kill myself again. You John, are a part of the last one. The third is that I find a reason not to attempt it a second time. My brother knows how much trouble I have following rules."

John was stunned. He had no idea, could never have guessed that this is why Sherlock acted so strange around New Year. The thought of the how he had abandoned his friend in last year made him feel sick. Sherlock could have done anything, and no one would have been there to stop him. "I wouldn't have done anything." Sherlock said, once again giving John the impression that he could read minds. "I was still hopeful you would come back, and I was right."

John struggled to find something to say. "I... your work isn't reason enough?" But what he was really thinking was. "_I'm your reason for living?"_

Sherlock seemed confused as to why John would ask such a stupid question. "Of course not. The work we chose to do is just a way to try and leave a mark on the world before we die. Whether or not we ever succeed is irrelevant to the fact that we all end up dead. We live on through people's memories, and it is the way we are remembered that is important."

John sat silently for a minute before speaking. "Sherlock, I'm so sorry about your brother and about the way things happened last year. I won't run out on you again, and I swear I wouldn't have let things escalate had I known."

Sherlock still looked troubled. "I wouldn't want you to stay out of pity John. I can handle myself." He said bitterly as he refilled his glass.

John chuckled darkly. "No, you don't understand. Sherlock, I can't leave you. I'm afraid I've grown very attached to you. After just those few days my limp was back and worse, I really missed you."

The dark haired man seemed to struggle to find a appropriate reply. "I... I also regretted your absence while you were away." Was the best he could manage.

The felling in the room was heavy as the two men sat silently in front of the fire. John's back was starting to ache from sitting on the floor, but there was no way he was going to pass up one of the rare moments his flat mate was willing to talk. They sat there for a long time, processing the conversation they had just had.

"I believe it's my turn now." Sherlock said, breaking the silence. He waited for John to nod before continuing. "Why doesn't it bother you anymore when people assume we're a couple? You used to make a point of correcting them, but about three months ago you stopped."

John wasn't surprised Sherlock had noticed, but he was surprised he hadn't. The blond man honestly hadn't realized he had stopped. "I don't know. It's not like I deliberately stopped correcting them. I guess it's because the people who matter know we're not dating, and it's not like I'm going to change anyone else's mind about it. Now it's my turn. While we're talking about relationships, have you ever been attracted to anyone?"

Sherlock instantly had his answer. "Yes, but it's irrelevant. Attraction is just an instinct hardwired into our genetic code to reproduce and can be overcome with mental discipline. All it is really is a craving for the chemicals that are released during sex. The pursuit of physical pleasure takes up to much time and holds to many risks."

John was a bit taken aback. He had set the question up as an easy way for his friend to say that he's asexual, or at the very least not interested in such a human activity. To hear that he actually chose abstinence over needless human contact was interesting. John was saved having to think of a reply by Sherlock's next question. "Have you ever been sexually attracted to a man?"

John nearly choked on his drink at the blunt question. "Have I what?!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Have you ever been sexually attracted to a man? You could take a shot, but that's just as telling."

"I wasn't going to take a shot." John said with resignation "Yes, I have. Although it was only man, just to be clear."

Sherlock appeared to have been throw off balance by his answer. He must have been expecting a yes, or he wouldn't have asked. It was the thought of it only being one man that threw him for a loop. One man that was able make three continents Watson swing both ways.

John jumped in before Sherlock could ask any more questions. "My turn. You've claimed to be a sociopath before, but have you ever loved someone outside of your immediate family?"

Sherlock wrinkled his nose at the question. "Love? John, love is just the same as sex. The body's constant pursuit of pleasure causing chemicals."

"But you didn't answer my question. Have you ever been in love?" John clarified.

Sherlock thought hard for a moment. "I really don't know. Possibly?" He said questioningly, looking to John as though he had the answer. John, who of course did not have the answer, only shrugged. Taking that as the end of Johns turn, Sherlock jumped on his next question. "Do I know this man?"

John was puzzled. "Wait, what man?"

Sherlock gave him a frustrated eye roll. "The man you're attracted to!"

"Oh." Was the best John could do. _"Well, Greg did say I should tell him. This is as good a way as any, granted a bit immature but it will do."_ John cleared his throat, and after making sure all his tells were in check said. "Yes. You know him fairly well." The fair-haired man could see Sherlock's mind churning through all the possible people in search for who it may be. Not wanting his friend to make the correct deduction right away, John started on his next question. "Why don't you and Mycroft get along?"

This seemed to completely derail Sherlock's train of thought. "What? Wouldn't you have issues if you had a sibling that videotaped your every move and routinely bugged your flat? And, it would appear you have wasted a question. It's my turn" The detective said with a triumphant grin. "Given that we both know the information will remain secret if you request, who is the man?"

John's hand was steady as he took a calming breath and set down his drink. "You."

John could hear the clock in the kitchen tick out three seconds before Sherlock spoke. "I what?" He asked, his face perplexed as he completely missed what John was saying.

"It's you. It's always you. You're the man I'm attracted to. Although if what you say about love is correct, I guess it qualifies also."

John could almost see the gears turning in Sherlock's head. "I.. you.. what?"

Recognizing he would have to make this very clear to prevent a misunderstanding, John made a bold decision. "Sherlock, I love you." And with that leaned forward, gently grabbing his friend's neck with one hand.

The kiss was chaste, lasting only a moment but full of meaning. John could taste the liquor on his cupids bow lips mixed with something else that was distinctly _Sherlock_. John cherished the feel of his flat mate's slightly chapped lips against his own, but he stopped the moment he realized he wasn't getting any response from the detective. John's heart plummeted as he sat back down, knowing that what he just did would forever change their friendship.

He waited for Sherlock to respond, but it didn't happen. Instead his friend sat there as though made of stone, his eyes wide and unseeing. _"Oh god, I've broke him."_ John thought as he sat there watching Sherlock. He knew that the lack of response during the kiss wasn't a good omen. John wanted Sherlock to say something, yell at him, anything to break the silence. Several minutes ticked by before there was any sign of life from the brunet. He finally blinked slowly, murmuring something. Although afraid of what may happen, John scooted back before speaking. "Sorry, what?"

Sherlock's eyes snapped to John's. They were wild, fill of an electrical charge John had never seen. To his great dismay, they were also angry. "This changes everything!" He said to John before leaping up. John with his broken ankle didn't have any hope of following Sherlock as he dashed to the door before racing down the stairs, pulling on his coat as he went. This left John on the floor of the flat alone, sitting in the shambles of their friendship.

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**Thank you so much for reading! Please follow so that you can be notified as soon as the next chapter comes out, and comment because I like knowing real people are reading this and not robots. So, should this fic remain rated T? I'm considering putting in some "mature action" ;D but I am not sure what you guys would think. I would put it in it's own chapter so that it could be skipped if you're not into that sort of thing. Any concerns with me changing the rating? I am also thinking about writing a one shot for Halloween in addition to regular updates to this, so if you have any suggestions I'd love to hear them.**


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